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BEHIND 
THE  GERMAN  LINES 

A    NARRATIVE     OF     THE     EVERYDAY 

LIFE    OF    AN    AMERICAN 

PRISONER    OF    WAR 


BY 


RALPH   E.   ELLINWOOD 

s.  s.  u.  621 

U.  S.  A.  A.  S. 


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Xlbe  IftnicherbocJ^er  press 

NEW  YORK 
1920 


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Copyright,   1920 
By  R.  E.  ELLINWOOD 


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H)eDicateD 

TO 

THE  MEMORY  OF  MY  HEROIC  COMRADES  WHO  WERE 
MURDERED  BEHIND    THE  GERMAN  UNES 


PREFACE 

"  How  did  the  Germans  treat  you  ?  "  That  question  was  asked 
me  so  often  on  my  return  to  America  that  I  decided  to  write, 
for  the  information  of  my  friends  who  have  manifested  such  a 
kindly  interest  in  our  experience,  a  full  account  of  what  happened 
to  my  comrades  and  myself  during  my  seven  months  behind  the 
German  lines  as  a  prisoner  of  war.  This  is  not  an  exciting  story, 
for  the  life  of  a  prisoner  was  at  best  a  most  wearisome  existence. 
Yeit  the  life  in  itself  was  so  different  from  anything  I  had  known 
before  that  there  was  for  me  always  an  endless  interest  which 
tended  to  lessen  the  hardships  and  the  sense  of  danger. 

Ralph  E.  Ellinwood. 

BiSBEE,  Arizona, 
September  i,   1919. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Preface           

V 

CHAPTER 

I.— Captured      .... 

I 

II. — Mont  Notre  Dame 

13 

III.— Laon     .... 

. 

.           48 

IV.— Langensalza 

79 

V. — Eschenbergen 

90 

VL— Illeben 

.     107 

VII. — Langensalza 

.     143 

VIII.  —Cassel— Repatriation 

.     156 

ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

The  Author    .......     Frontispiece 

Mont  Notre  Dame  Hospital 25 

The  Kaiser  during  his  Visit  to  the  Hospital        .         .       34 
Village  and  Church  of  Mont  Notre  Dame   ...       46 


Behind  the  German  Lines 


CHAPTER  I 

CAPTURED 

Section  Sanitaire  U.  621  had  been  relieved  from 
duty  along  with  the  74th  French  Division  to  which  it 
was  attached,  early  in  May,  when  the  English  took 
over  the  sector  northwest  of  Rheims.  We  had  just 
gotten  comfortably  settled  in  the  grounds  of  an  old 
chateau  owned  by  a  Polish  prince  by  the  name  of 
Poniatowski.  There  we  enjoyed  an  idle  life  of  repose, 
wandering  around  the  grounds,  reading  in  the  shade 
of  its  stately  elms,  or  watching  the  fish  play  among 
the  lily  pads  in  the  ancient  moat.  Only  an  occasional 
boche  avion,  regularly  shelled  by  the  French  anti- 
aircraft guns,  reminded  us  that  we  lay  somewhere 
behind  the  lines.  Then,  hurried  orders  came  for  us 
to  move  to  Pernant,  eight  kilometers  west  of  Soissons. 

During  one  of  the  few  afternoons  before  leaving, 
another  driver  and  I  strayed  down  to  the  meadow  and 
talked  over  what  the  future  possibly  held  in  store  for 
the  Section.     It  was  remarked  that  we  had  had  too 


2  Behind  the  (Terman  Lines 

easy  an  existence,  for  since  I  had  joined  the  Section, 
in  December,  191 7,  we  had  suffered  nothing  more 
than  one  shelHng  of  our  cantonment  and  an  occa- 
sional piece  of  eclat  in  one  or  more  of  the  ambulances. 
We  came  to  the  conclusion  that  we  were  headed  for 
the  Somme,  and  that  meant,  if  the  rumors  were  true, 
that  we  were  to  undergo  a  heavy  punishment  during 
the  coming  weeks.  Yet,  I  believe  that  most  of  us 
were  anxious  to  get  into  a  big  battle. 

We  had  been  at  Pernant  only  a  few  days,  quartered 
in  a  frame  schoolhouse,  when,  on  the  evening  of  May 
26th,  a  call  came  in  for  three  ambulances  for  detached 
duty  with  the  Medecine  Divisionaire,  chief  doctor  for 
the  division.  Everyone  wanted  to  go,  such  a  call 
being  considered  a  pleasant  change  from  the  usual 
routine  work,  and  at  the  time  it  meant  getting  on  the 
road  again  and  away  from  camp.  The  lot  fell  to 
Jack  Savoy,  of  Holyoke,  Massachusetts,  who  spoke 
excellent  French,  to  P.  L.  Bixby,  of  Long  Beach, 
California,  and  myself.  The  call  in  itself  indicated 
a  movement.  If  there  were  any  rumors  concerning  a 
German  attack,  I  do  not  recall  them,  but  as  I  look  back 
there  seems  to  have  been  an  atmosphere  of  excite- 
ment and  pending  action.  We  pulled  out,  Jack  in 
the  lead,  following  the  road  toward  Soissons,  crossing 
the  river  Aisne  north  towards  Pommiers  and  then 
west  to  Osly-Courtil,  where,  as  our  permi  rouge  read, 
we  were  to  be  stationed.  We  parked  our  cars  in  the 
small  Place  des  Etats-Unis,  under  the  foliage  of  the 
bordering  trees,  which  offered  a  splendid  camouflage. 
There  we  waited  until  the  doctor  should  need  us. 


Captured  3 

Osly-Courtil  was  divisional  headquarters  and  thus 
full  of  staff  cars,  coming  and  going,  with  their  lights 
piercing  the  darkness ;  others  with  no  lights  crawling 
quietly  into  the  village  to  avoid  detection.  Now  and 
then  a  camion  would  rumble  through  the  village. 
We  could  not  sleep,  although  we  had  rolled  into  our 
blankets  on  stretchers  in  the  back  of  our  cars. 

An  orderly  informed  us,  about  midnight,  that  a  car 
would  be  needed  at  4.30  a.m.,  to  go  to  Crouy.  We 
tossed  for  it,  and  the  lot  fell  to  me.  It  was  about  that 
time,  a  little  before  or  after  midnight,  that  the  front 
broke  into  a  long  rumble,  rolling  like  heavy  thunder — 
an  ominous  foreboding.  None  of  the  shells  was  hit- 
ting near,  so  we  dozed  off  for  a  few  hours.  At  four 
o'clock  I  drove  over  to  the  officers'  quarters.  The 
French  doctor  and  his  aide  were  waiting,  and  we  put 
his  rather  bulky  equipment  in  the  rear  of  the  car. 
Recrossing  the  Aisne  we  headed  for  Soissons.  The 
doctor,  a  slight  man  of  perhaps  fifty  years,  with  a 
kindly  face  and  gentle  eyes,  remained  silent,  save  for 
spasmodic  remarks  offering  me  advice  on  my  driving. 
If  a  shell  hit  on  the  road  ahead  of  us  he  exclaimed, 
doucementi  or,  if  we  heard  an  explosion  behind  us, 
his  exclamation  was,  allez  toute  suite! 

We  passed  through  Soissons  shortly  after  daylight. 
Never  shall  I  forget  the  strained  expressions  on  the 
faces  of  the  civilians  who,  from  their  doorsteps,  were 
watching  the  few  cars  that  were  hurrying  through  the 
almost  deserted  streets.  Only  a  few  days  before, 
several  of  us  had  driven  into  the  city  for  provisions. 
The  shops  were  then  open,  the  vegetables  and  meats 


4  Behind  the  German  Lines 

temptingly  displayed,  and  the  inhabitants  apparently 
forgetful  that  they  were  living  directly  under  the 
German  guns.  But  this  morning  Soissons  was 
awake  early,  watching  and  waiting  for  the  devel- 
opments of  the  battle  of  which  the  bombardment 
was  only  a  forewarning.  Over  the  Pont  Neuf,  across 
the  Aisne,  and  three  kilometers  out  to  Crouy,  we 
hurried. 

The  summer  before  I  had  worked  in  the  French 
transport  service,  in  this  vicinity,  and  I  enjoyed  the 
familiar  scenes,  noting  a  few  changes  here  and  there, 
but  the  most  conspicuous  were  the  results  of  the  pre- 
vious night's  shelling.  Fresh  shell-holes  lay  along 
the  road,  where  the  boche  had  attempted  to  destroy 
supply  trains  going  up  to  the  lines.  At  Crouy  we 
swung  into  a  courtyard.  My  orders  were  to  wait. 
Crouy  was  then  the  object  of  Austrian '  *  whizz-bangs, ' ' 
a  high  velocity  shell  which  explodes  almost  as  quickly 
as  the  noise  of  its  approach  is  heard.  Having  had  no 
breakfast,  I  grabbed  my  cup  and  hunted  up  a  French 
kitchen,  which  I  found  across  the  street.  There  I 
poked  my  head  in  the  door  and  asked  for  some  coffee. 
A  French  officer — for  I  had  intruded  into  an  officers' 
mess — offered  me  coffee,  bread,  and  confiture,  a  very 
acceptable  meal.  When  I  returned  to  the  car  I  found 
the  doctor  was  waiting,  and  we  drove  to  another 
courtyard  in  the  village.  The  doctor  ordered  me  to 
remain  in  a  wine  cellar  which  he  pointed  out, 
while  he  himself  hunted  quarters  for  his  first  aid 
station.  The  shelling  had  steadily  increased,  so  that 
I   was   perfectly   satisfied  to   remain   under   cover. 


Captured  5 

Once  in  a  while  I  went  to  the  entrance,  but  only  to 
duck  back  when  a  shell  hit  close. 

About  noon  the  doctor  came  down  and  told  me  my 
car  was  full  of  wounded.  Allez  a  Vassemy  toute  suite 
was  his  order,  as  he  gently  helped  into  his  coat  a 
poilu  wounded  in  the  shoulder.  The  roads  were 
becoming  packed  and  the  dust  rose  with  the  heavy 
traffic.  Ambulances  raced  in  and  out,  having  the 
right  of  way;  dispatch  riders  tore  along,  all  covered 
with  the  white  dust.  I  avoided  Soissons,  taking  the 
road  towards  Vailly  along  the  river,  which  I  crossed 
just  south  of  Bucy-le-Long,  joining  the  Soissons- 
Rheims  road  near  Venizel.  The  railroad  station 
there  resembled  a  pepper-box,  and  what  was  once  a 
locomotive  lay  scattered  over  the  torn-up  tracks. 
There  I  took  a  road,  going  through  a  bit  of  woods, 
which  had  been  occupied  by  mounted  troops.  Here 
the  roads  were  torn  by  shell-fire  and  a  horse  or  two 
lay  dead  amid  the  fragments  of  foliage  stripped  from 
the  trees.  My  heart  almost  bled  at  the  tragedy 
significantly  told  along  the  road  from  there  on  to 
Vassemy.  A  child's  slipper,  an  old  man's  cane,  a  torn 
straw  hat,  a  bit  of  woman's  finery,  and  over  it  rolled 
the  equipment  of  war — soldiers  walking  and  riding, 
trucks,  ammunition  caissons,  heavy  guns,  behind 
groaning  caterpillars,  and  here  and  there  a  few 
wounded,  tired  and  haggard,  carrying  some  bloody 
trace  of  the  night  and  morning's  battle,  as  they 
walked  back  to  a  hospital.  I  gave  one  a  lift  on  my 
already  loaded  car.  He  would  not  leave  his  pack,  so 
I  dumped  it  on  the  fender.     How  unlike  an  American 


6  Behind  the  German  Lines 

— in  the  worst  hour  of  suffering  the  French  hold  fast 
to  their  small  earthly  possessions,  which  is  probably 
due  to  their  national  characteristic  of  thrift. 

Just  before  reaching  Vassemy  hospital,  a  French 
avion  had  hit  a  boche  plane.  As  the  latter  fell,  he 
sprinkled  the  road  with  his  mitrailleuse,  which  caused 
the  mounted  troops  ahead  of  me  to  spread  on  each 
side  of  the  road  as  little  puffs  of  dust  arose  marking 
where  the  bullets  hit.  I  turned  in  time  to  see  the 
boche  dig  his  nose  in  the  field  and  his  machine  burst 
into  flames. 

Vassemy  was  overcrowded,  and  we  were  turned 
away  with  orders  to  go  on  to  Mont  Notre  Dame, 
three  or  four  miles  distant.  As  I  swung  back  on  the 
highway,  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  stretcher  cases 
being  loaded  on  to  a  waiting  hospital  train. 

I  went  on.  Braisne,  as  I  had  known  it  less  than 
two  weeks  before,  was  far  from  being  the  same  when 
I  bumped  over  its  cobblestones.  Now,  no  soldiers 
loitered  around,  the  stores  on  the  main  street  were 
closed,  and  great  holes  gaped  in  the  deserted  houses 
and  streets.  As  I  turned  off  the  main  street  and 
crossed  the  Vesle  by  the  small  dam  where  we  had 
gone  swimming  while  at  Lime,  I  found  a  huge  limb  of 
one  of  the  trees  bordering  the  road  nearly  blocking 
the  way,  and,  just  beyond,  an  English  ambulance  was 
drawn  up  beside  the  road  with  its  engine  torn  away 
and  two  pools  of  blood  in  the  empty  seat.  I  shud- 
dered and  wondered  when  my  turn  was  coming. 
Past  the  crossroads  at  Lime  and  on  to  the  hos- 
pital I  went,  only  to  fall  in  behind  a  long  line  of 


Captured  7 

ambulances  waiting  their  turn  to  be  emptied  at  the 
triage. 

It  should  be  explained  that  in  entering  the  hospital 
from  the  road,  one  turned  to  the  right,  ran  up  a  sharp 
grade  for  twenty  yards,  and,  after  thirty  or  forty 
yards  more  of  level  road,  turned  to  the  left,  between 
two  barracks,  with  a  roof  connecting  them,  where  the 
cars  were  unloaded.  If  this  description  is  clear,  it 
will  be  noted  that  the  triage  or  receiving  station  was 
invisible  from  the  road,  and  might  easily  and  rather 
quickly  be  approached  without  seeing  those  who  were 
at  the  entrance. 

After  my  car  was  emptied,  I  returned  to  Crouy, 
where,  after  a  two  hours'  absence,  I  was  unable  to 
find  the  corner  where  I  had  been  parked  that  morning. 
Not  only  had  the  corner  building  been  wrecked,  but 
the  whole  village  looked  different,  so  heavy  had  the 
sheUing  been  while  I  was  away.  I  finally  found  our 
French  lieutenant,  with  some  drivers  of  the  Section. 
As  our  division  had  not  gone  into  action,  and  we  were 
not  to  be  assigned  any  regular  work  until  they  did  go 
into  the  lines,  we  were  ordered  back  to  a  grove  of 
trees  just  off  the  road,  half  way  between  Soissons  and 
Crouy.  There  we  remained  all  the  afternoon,  eigh- 
teen cars  of  the  Section  well  camouflaged  under  the 
trees,  and  the  drivers  resting  on  the  grass.  Trucks 
full  of  infantry  going  up  to  the  front  rolled  by  on  the 
road,  half  hidden  in  the  choking  dust;  ambulances 
hurrying  to  the  rear  dodged  in  and  out  among  them ; 
light  artillery  lumbered  forward,  and  now  and  then  a 
big  gun  passed  to  the  rear.     We  inquired  from  men 


8  Behind  the  German  Lines 

coming  from  the  lines  how  the  fight  was  going,  but 
reports  were  contradictory. 

Overhead,  enemy  and  allied  avions  were  numerous, 
some  directing  artillery  fire,  others  fighting  their  own 
battles  to  the  end,  but  all  of  them  apparently  obliv- 
ious to  the  anti-aircraft  guns  that  spotted  the  sky 
with  puffs  of  white  smoke.  Those  two  or  three  hours 
that  we  lay  there  were  a  strain  on  us,  although  we 
tried  not  to  show  it.  The  conditions  under  which  we 
had  worked  up  to  this  time  had  been  really  common- 
place compared  to  the  offensive  that  was  now  in 
progress,  and  we  realized  when  we  should  be  assigned 
work  within  the  next  few  hours  to  do  it  would  take 
all  the  nerve  we  had  and  more  too.  The  back  area 
shelling  was  just  as  heavy  as  that  directed  on  the 
front  lines,  and  things  were  certainly  popping  all  the 
afternoon. 

"Colonel"  Cain,  of  Missouri,  and  I  were  sitting  in 
my  car,  eating  an  afternoon  meal  of  canned  salmon 
and  bread,  when  a  big  shell  hit  the  railroad  station  at 
St.  Medard,  north  of  Soissons.  A  minute  later  an- 
other hit  some  hundred  yards  closer  than  the  first, 
another  minute  and  a  third  hit  with  the  same  short- 
ened range.  "Colonel"  mumbled,  "Another  and  we 
shall  be  in  direct  ..."  Then  came  a  loud 
whistle,  and  the  green  field  a  hundred  feet  in  front  of 
us  rose  in  a  black  cloud,  with  a  terrific  explosion,  and 
the  eclats  whizzed  past  our  heads  clipping  the  leaves 
or  burying  themselves  in  the  trunks  of  the  trees  be- 
hind us.     We  jumped  and  stretched  out  on  the  grass. 

About  seven  o'clock  the  French  Heutenant  returned 


Captured  9 

and  began  assigning  posts.  Having  been  the  last  one 
in  the  party  on  duty,  Savoy  and  Bixby  being  still  at 
Osly,  I  was  last  on  the  list,  and  accompanied  Sergeant 
Kenneth  A.  Wood,  of  Buffalo,  and  J.  D.  Crary,  of 
Brooklyn,  to  Missy-sur-Aisne,  awaiting  there  in  the 
dugout  under  the  church  any  extra  call  that  might 
come  in. 

Before  leaving  Lime,  I  had  stocked  my  car  with 
canned  goods,  tobacco,  and  cigarettes.  That  par- 
ticular evening,  while  awaiting  a  call,  I  went  out  to 
my  car  and  looked  over  the  supply.  Some  bayonets 
that  I  had  saved  for  souvenirs  I  threw  away  and  also 
destroyed  several  letters  I  had  written  home.  I  was 
familiar  with  the  report  of  how  the  Huns  treated 
captured  non-combatants  carrying  arms,  and  I  also 
realized  that  my  position  was  such  that  I  could  be 
very  easily  captured.  But  little  did  I  realize  how 
wise  these  precautions  were,  in  view  of  what  was  to 
follow. 

We  had  been  at  Missy  less  than  an  hour,  chatting 
with  the  French  hrancardiers  on  duty  there,  and 
drinking  pinard,  when  Frank  Conly  of  Brooklyn 
dropped  in  on  his  way  down  from  the  post  at  Conde, 
and  said  that  another  car  was  wanted  there.  I  went 
on  up.  The  night  was  dark  and  the  white  road,  now 
deserted,  was  plainly  visible  as  it  stretched  ahead. 
Half  way  there  on  my  right  a  long  barrack  used  as  a 
stable  was  blazing  brightly  and  lit  up  the  road  for 
over  a  mile.  It  was  here  that  I  met  Baker.  ' '  Where 
is  the  post  at  Conde?"  I  called  out. 

"First  courtyard  to  the  right.     You  can't  miss  the 


10         Behind  the  German  Lines 

gate  with  the  high  pillars,"  he  answered;  "the  post  is 
in  a  dugout." 

The  shelling  had  died  down.  The  evening  seemed 
unusually  quiet  when  I  drew  up  at  the  post.  A 
brancardier  came  up  from  the  dugout  when  he  heard 
my  car  and  accompanied  me  down.  There  the  young 
officer  on  duty  informed  me  that  there  were  not 
enough  wounded  to  fill  my  car,  couchez-vous  pour  un 
moment.  The  dugout  was  a  spacious  affair,  some 
twenty  feet  underground,  large  enough  for  half  a 
dozen  cots,  and  well  equipped  for  a  first  aid  station. 
Presently  another  case  was  brought  down.  When 
the  necessary  tagging  and  paper  work  were  done,  the 
car  was  loaded  and  I  was  handed  the  billets.  One 
stretcher  case  and  three  sitting  cases. 

"Vassemy"  were  my  orders.  Back  over  the  road 
toward  Missy  and  from  there  to  the  left  across  the 
river  road  over  the  Aisne  I  hurried.  A  road  could 
not  have  been  more  deserted  at  midnight  even  had 
there  been  no  war.  No  lights,  the  trees  throwing 
faint  shadows  over  the  road  and  appearing  as  dull 
shadows  themselves.  The  road  opened  up  smooth 
ahead,  from  an  apparent  nowhere;  there  was  no  move- 
ment save  that  of  my  car,  and  no  noise  save  the 
distant  thud  of  shells.  At  Sermoise  I  passed  an  Amer- 
ican ambulance  (I  was  then  on  the  Soissons-Rheims 
road).  I  stopped,  and  found  the  driver  was  William 
Heckert  of  our  Section,  with  a  load  of  wounded.  He 
had  become  lost  in  his  attempt  to  find  Vassemy.  As 
I  was  going  there,  I  told  him  to  follow  me.  A  few 
miles  farther  on  and  we  swung  into  Vassemy,  past 


Captured  1 1 

some  trucks  that  were  lying  inside  the  entrance,  and 
on  up  to  the  triage.  Ted  Lockwood's  car  was  there 
and  soon  Ted  appeared  with  some  water  for  one  of  his 
patients. 

It  was  only  then  that  we  realized  that  the  hospital 
had  just  been  evacuated,  and  that  these  trucks  were 
carrying  away  the  last  supplies.  The  three  of  us 
then  held  council,  trying  to  decide  whether  to  go  on 
to  Vierzy,  directly  to  the  rear,  or  on  to  Mont  Notre 
Dame  hospital,  where  I  had  been  that  noon  and  which 
was  much  nearer.  We  decided  on  the  latter,  as  a 
wounded  Frenchman  in  one  of  the  cars  asked  us  to 
hurry.  Lockwood  led.  Just  before  we  reached 
Braisne,  we  turned  off  to  the  right,  up  the  steep  hill 
which  overlooks  the  city,  thus  avoiding  the  city  itself, 
which  was  on  fire,  as  near  as  we  could  judge.  We 
knew  that  the  main  street  was  badly  pitted  with  holes. 
This  route  was  a  little  out  of  our  way,  but  it  was  a 
matter  of  safety  for  the  wounded.  Coming  down  the 
hill  we  passed  mounted  troops  resting  beside  the  road, 
and  one  of  their  number  asked  to  be  taken  into  the 
hospital,  as  he  was  wounded  in  the  foot.  Ted  picked 
him  up.  Although  this  road  was  narrow  and  seldom 
used  in  ordinary  times,  it  had  suffered  a  heavy  shell- 
ing as  was  shown  by  the  holes.  Lime,  which  was 
just  beyond,  was  intact,  as  far  as  we  could  see  in  the 
dark.  At  the  crossroads,  where  we  came  to  the  road 
which  we  would  have  taken  had  we  not  turned  off  be- 
fore reaching  Braisne,  Lockwood  stopped,  explaining 
that  he  had  to  change  a  spark  plug  and  told  us  to  go 
on. 


12         Behind  the  German  Lines 

It  was  here  at  the  crossroads  that  we  passed 
French  machine  gunners,  lying  in  the  shadow  of  the 
bushes  bordering  the  road.  Their  guns  were  not  set 
up.  I  passed  Ted,  followed  by  Heckert.  Two  miles 
more  and  we  swung  off  the  main  road,  up  the  sharp 
incline  to  the  right,  again  to  the  left,  and  slowed  up  in 
front  of  the  triage.  It  was  then  that  I  noticed  the 
German  helmets  and  a  large  number  of  bayonets 
among  the  crowd  gathered  between  the  two  barracks. 
My  first  thought  was  that  the  French  had  taken  some 
prisoners.  Then,  like  a  flash,  the  situation  dawned 
on  me.     I  was  the  prisoner ! 


CHAPTER  II 

MONT  NOTRE  DAME 

"Put  up  your  hands,"  came  a  gruff  command  in 
broken  English.  There  was  no  argument.  I  was 
looking  into  the  barrel  of  a  luger. 

As  I  got  out  of  my  car,  I  turned,  in  the  hopes  of 
warning  Lockwood  and  Heckert,  but  they  were 
directly  behind  me. 

As  quickly  as  we  had  become  the  center  of  atten- 
tion of  the  crowd  at  the  triage,  as  quickly  were  we 
forgotten,  although  we  were  informed  that  if  we 
attempted  escape  we  would  be  shot. 

I  tried  to  make  apologies  to  the  wounded,  as  I 
helped  them  out  of  my  car,  for  my  having  been  the 
means  of  their  capture.  The  Frenchmen  were  very 
polite,  saying  that  it  could  not  be  helped,  but  from 
the  look  in  their  eyes  I  realized  that  for  them  the 
situation  could  hardly  have  been  worse — wounded 
and  prisoners  in  German  hands ! 

I  drifted  among  the  crowd,  trying  to  find  out  what 
had  happened  and  how  the  hospital  was  taken.  I 
soon  learned  that  the  hospital  had  been  captured  only 
about  twenty  minutes  before,  by  the  first  German 
line  as  it  advanced,  and  that  only  the  guards  were 

13 


14         Behind  the  German  Lines 

left  there.  There  had  been  time  for  the  personnel  of 
the  hospital  to  get  away,  but  all  had  volunteered  to 
remain  with  the  wounded. 

In  the  dark  it  was  difficult  to  tell  who  was  in  the 
crowd  in  front  of  the  triage.  French  doctors  talked 
excitedly,  emphasizing  their  words  with  gestures; 
English  doctors  awaited  calmly  for  developments; 
French  nurses,  in  their  long  dark  capes,  grouped 
silently  with  the  doctors,  and  among  them  all  were 
the  French  and  English  orderlies  and  the  German 
guards.  I  accosted  an  Englishman,  supposing  that 
he  was  one  of  the  ambulance  drivers  working  that 
sector,  but  I  soon  learned  that  he  was  one  of  the 
doctors.  The  German  guards,  with  their  barbarian 
looking  helmets  and  fixed  bayonets,  kept  wandering 
among  us  peering  insolently  into  our  faces.  The 
harsh  German  language  and  the  broken  English  and 
French  spoken  with  a  guttural  accent  jarred  on  our 
ears.  In  the  succeeding  months  French  became  more 
like  our  own  native  tongue,  while  the  German  lan- 
guage always  remained  foreign. 

We  had  thought  of  escape,  and  wandered  away 
from  the  crowd,  only  to  be  followed  by  a  guard  and 
motioned  back.  There  was  no  use  to  go  any  farther, 
for  we  learned  that  some  Italians  had  been  shot  while 
attempting  to  get  away.  Moreover,  there  was  work 
to  be  done  right  there  among  our  own  wounded. 

Earlier  in  the  day  a  hospital  train  had  been  ex- 
pected. Had  it  arrived  the  hospital  would  have  been 
evacuated  before  it  was  captured.  In  preparation 
for  this  train  many  of  the  wounded  had  been  taken 


Mont  Notre  Dame  15 

from  the  wards  down  to  the  station  or  placed  in  rows 
on  their  stretchers  outside  the  wards.  It  was  now 
necessary  to  get  these  poor  fellows  back  to  bed.  We 
began  taking  them  into  the  wards.  I  worked  with 
Mile.  Bedts,  a  French  nurse,  who  proved  to  be,  as 
did  the  other  nurses,  most  heroic,  patient,  and  faith- 
ful to  duty  in  the  following  two  months  at  the  hos- 
pital. We  began  with  those  who  were  most  seriously 
wounded,  leaving  those  who  were  sleeping  until  the 
last.  By  four  in  the  morning  we  had  gotten  them  all 
to  bed.  I  can  see  even  now  as  I  write,  the  senior 
nurse  tiptoeing  down  the  aisle  of  the  ward  with  her 
dark  lantern,  rearranging  a  blanket  here  and  there, 
or  whispering  a  word  of  cheer  to  one  of  the  patients 
who  had  not  fallen  asleep.  What  a  disappointing 
surprise  the  next  morning  for  those  wounded  who  had 
slept  through  the  whole  evening  and  who  would  wake 
up  to  find  themselves  behind  the  German  lines. 

Among  all  of  the  wounded  there  was  only  one 
American,  an  ambulance  driver  of  S.  S.  U.  646, 
Harry  K.  James,  who  had  been  wounded  by  a  bomb 
the  previous  day. 

Following  the  instructions  of  Mile  Bedts,  Lock- 
wood,  Heckert,  and  I  found  beds  in  a  half -filled  ward. 
It  took  us  but  a  minute  to  get  to  sleep  once  we  were 
in  bed. 

Never  in  my  life  do  I  wish  to  awaken  with  such  a 
hopeless  feeling  as  I  did  the  next  morning,  when  I 
opened  my  eyes  at  eight  o'clock.  Outside,  anti- 
aircraft shrapnel  was  bursting  overhead  and  I  could 
hear  the  drone  of  the  propellers.     But   that   was 


i6         Behind  the  German  Lines 

nothing.  "A  prisoner  in  German  hands"  ran 
through  my  head  over  and  over  again.  No  communi- 
cation with  those  on  our  side  of  the  Hne,  no  news  from 
home,  and  a  very  doubtful  future,  if  all  reports  were 
to  be  believed.  It  was  not  so  much  what  it  meant  to 
me  personally,  but  the  report  of  my  being  missing 
would  be  known  to  those  at  home. 

Someone  was  moving  in  the  ward,  then  I  heard 
whispering  in  Italian.  I  changed  my  gaze  from  the 
whitewashed  ceiling  to  the  length  of  the  aisle.  An 
Italian  hobbled  in,  his  foot  limp  and  bleeding. 
Excitedly  he  explained  that  he  had  tried  to  escape  and 
was  shot.  Other  patients  began  to  search  among 
their  clothes  for  letters  and  orders,  which  were  thrown 
into  the  stove.  In  the  next  few  days  the  process  of 
destroying  printed  matter  that  might  be  useful  to  the 
enemy  was  a  common  scene. 

We  dressed,  and  shortly  Mile.  Bedts  came  in  with 
a  cheerful  smile  and  asked  how  we  had  slept. 

Mile.  Bedts  was  rather  large,  not  typically  French 
in  stature,  though  well  proportioned  and  straight; 
and,  as  we  learned  later,  stronger  than  most  men. 
She  chatted  with  us  a  few  minutes,  talking  heatedly 
against  the  Germans,  yet  hopeful  concerning  the 
whole  affair.  Reminding  us  that  it  would  be  best  to 
destroy  all  written  and  printed  matter  we  had  with  us 
she  offered  to  take  care  of  any  valuables  we  had  lest 
we  were  searched  and  lose  them.  I  gave  her  my 
watch. 

We  offered  our  services  for  anything  that  would  be 
of  help  to  her.     She  accepted  and  led  the  way,  going 


Mont  Notre  Dame  17 

through  the  barracks  as  much  as  possible  and  avoid- 
ing open  spaces  and  the  German  guards.  In  an 
officer's  ward  she  gave  us  breakfast,  coffee  and  bread. 

Then  we  began  work.  Two  officers  had  died  dur- 
ing the  night  and  their  bodies  had  to  be  taken  to  the 
morgue.  We  put  them  on  stretchers.  Mile.  Bedts 
and  I  took  the  first  stretcher,  and  Lockwood  and 
Heckert  the  other.  My  respect  and  admiration  for 
Mile.  Bedts  was  established  that  morning,  when  she 
showed  so  much  courage  and  coolness  in  the  following 
incident : 

The  morgue  lay  some  three  hundred  yards  from  the 
wards  proper,  among  a  group  of  buildings  which  com- 
prised a  carpenter  shop,  a  laundry,  and  a  sterilizing 
plant.  As  we  approached  the  morgue,  a  shell 
whistled  in  and  hit  a  lumber  pile  just  behind  the 
morgue,  about  fifty  yards  from  us.  Mile.  Bedts  kept 
on,  with  the  cheerful  remark:  "Come  on,  no  need  of 
stopping  for  that."  It  seemed  foolhardy  to  go  on, 
but  if  she  showed  no  fear,  it  was  certainly  not  my 
place  to  object,  and  she  continued  coolly  on.  An- 
other shell  came  whining  in  and  exploded  much 
nearer.  Mile.  Bedts  proceeded  without  a  word. 
Still  another  shell !  This  time  we  were  within  thirty 
feet  of  the  morgue.  Mile.  Bedts  lowered  her  end  of 
the  stretcher  and  laughingly  exclaimed:  *'We  better 
lie  down!"  We  did,  and  just  in  time.  The  eclat 
whizzed  over  our  heads  as  the  explosion  tore  the  air. 
"AllonsI  Let  us  get  these  in  before  the  next  shell 
hits,"  she  exclaimed.  We  hurried  on,  fumbling  with 
the  latch,  and  finally  laid  the  bodies  inside.     As  we 


1 8  Behind  the  German  Lines 

ran  from  the  morgue  another  shell  came  in,  digging 
up  the  ground  between  the  morgue  and  the  carpenter 
shop. 

We  went  back  to  the  officers'  ward  and  removed  the 
rest  of  the  patients  over  to  the  ward  of  which  Mile. 
Bedts  had  direct  charge,  Salle  3.  Lockwood,  who 
spoke  French  fluently,  remained  there,  and  became 
Mile.  Bedts 's  right-hand  man. 

Heckert  and  I,  having  nothing  to  do,  wandered  out, 
trying  to  get  a  little  of  the  lay  of  the  camp,  and  to 
see  what  had  happened  to  the  cars.  We  found  them 
where  we  had  left  them  on  the  previous  night.  The 
things  we  had  in  them  we  took  out.  Tobacco,  ciga- 
rettes, a  few  cans  of  food,  a  blanket  roll,  and  our  packs. 
It  was  then  that  we  noticed  the  cars  had  been  tam- 
pered with,  and  we  finished  the  job  of  ruining  them 
for  further  use  by  the  Huns.  The  last  that  I  saw  of 
them  was  several  weeks  later,  when  one  of  them 
passed  on  a  Red  Cross  truck,  bound  for  the  rear. 
My  sincere  hope  is  that  the  cars  were  beyond  repair, 
at  least  with  the  wiring  pulled  out,  and  a  monkey- 
wrench  in  the  gears,  and  the  tires  cut,  they  would 
cause  some  mechanic  a  lot  of  work. 

That  noon  we  accepted  Mile.  Bedts's  kind  invita- 
tion for  dinner  with  the  nurses  in  their  quarters. 
There  were  about  twenty  in  the  party,  so  that  we 
three  Americans  were  decidedly  outnumbered.  But 
that  made  no  difference,  for  our  hostesses  were 
delightful  and  the  dinner  delicious,  especially  as  it 
was  the  first  hot  meal  we  had  had  for  two  days.  The 
atmosphere  of  their  quarters  was  restful  and  home- 


Mont  Notre  Dame  19 

like.  The  only  interruption  to  the  meal  was  by  a 
boche  avion,  who  used  his  machine  gun  on  the  hospi- 
tal rather  promiscuously,  and  then  ended  the  per- 
formance by  dropping  a  small  bomb  just  outside, 
between  two  of  the  wards  near  by.  All  remained  at 
the  table,  except  one  nurse,  who  went  to  her  room  and 
returned  with  a  helmet  on.  The  nurses  took  the 
situation  coolly,  merely  scolding  roundly  the  im- 
pudence of  the  boche. 

Later,  another  boche  avion  came  over,  flying  low 
and  using  his  machine  gun  on  the  hospital.  Heckert 
and  I  at  the  time  were  under  a  large  oak  tree,  in 
the  small  plaza  in  the  center  of  the  hospital  grounds, 
and  we  moved  behind  this,  keeping  one  behind  the 
other,  always  opposite  the  boche. 

What  object  the  aviator  had  in  using  us  as  a  tar- 
get, when  we  were  already  prisoners,  was  more  than 
I  could  judge.  Perhaps  it  was  the  German  idea  of 
sport. 

That  afternoon  we  found  an  empty  barrack  va- 
cated by  the  officers,  and  tried  to  catch  up  in  our 
sleep.  This  barrack  became  our  sleeping  quarters  for 
several  nights  until  we  decided  that  it  might  be  safer 
to  move.  Allied  shells  had  been  hitting  in  that 
vicinity. 

During  those  first  few  days,  the  Germans  had 
placed  a  battery  of  guns  just  outside  the  hospital 
grounds,  among  a  group  of  trees,  on  the  western  side. 
This  battery  was  the  cause,  in  my  opinion,  of  the 
occasional  shells  that  hit  within  the  hospital  grounds. 
The  Allies,  in  trying  to  locate  this  battery,  could  not 


20         Behind  the  German  Lines 

help  but  drop  a  few  shells  short,  and  these  fell  danger- 
ously near  the  wards. 

One  evening,  before  we  had  moved,  several  shells 
hit  near  our  vacant  barrack,  so  we  hurried  over  to  a 
part  of  the  grounds  which  appeared  to  be  out  of 
range,  and  there  spent  the  remainder  of  the  night 
rolled  up  in  our  blankets,  sheltered  by  the  sandbags 
that  were  used  as  a  protection  for  the  wards.  On 
another  evening,  we  hurried  from  our  beds  to  a  dug- 
out between  two  of  the  wards.  We  had  just  gotten 
under  cover,  when  a  shell  hit  at  the  opposite  opening 
from  that  by  which  we  had  entered,  throwing  the 
sand  and  dirt  the  length  of  the  dugout,  but  injuring 
only  one  man.  Had  the  shell  hit  three  feet  farther, 
it  would  have  probably  killed  all  in  the  dugout. 

The  next  day  we  began  worl<,in  Salle  3,  under  direc- 
tion of  Mile.  Bedts.  Ambulance  driving  had  not 
included  hospital  work  before,  so  that  we  were  rather 
out  of  place  for  a  few  days.  The  work  consisted  of 
bathing  the  patients  in  the  morning,  keeping  the  ward 
clean,  and  serving  the  meals.  There  were  two 
nurses  in  the  ward.  Mile.  Bedts  and  Mile.  Michaudet, 
two  French  orderlies,  and  a  French  sergeant  in  charge. 
The  amount  of  work  that  we  Americans  did  in  the 
first  few  days  was  not  great,  but  we  soon  fell  into  the 
routine  and  did  what  we  could.  We  took  our  meals 
in  the  serving  room  of  the  ward  after  the  patients  had 
finished  and  having  the  same  food  as  they. 

The  supply  of  food  that  was  in  the  hospital  when  it 
was  captured  was  exhausted  after  a  week,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  chocolate,  canned  milk,  and  tea,  which 


Mont  Notre  Dame  21 

lasted  for  some  time.  After  that,  the  meals  could  no 
longer  be  described  as  meals,  for  they  consisted  only 
of  soup  and  black  bread,  with  now  and  then  an  issue 
of  jam  or  butter.  When  the  hospital  supply  of  coffee 
ran  out,  the  Germans  served  their  own  imitation 
coffee  made  from  roasted  barley.  The  soup  in  com- 
parison to  what  we  later  had  was  very  good,  being 
made  for  the  most  part  from  barley  or  rice  or  noodles, 
with  some  meat.  Patients  in  a  critical  condition 
were  served  special  food,  this  consisting  of  rice  bread, 
boiled  rice,  hot  cocoa,  and  dried  fruit. 

After  the  Germans  had  taken  over  the  supervision 
of  the  kitchens,  the  meals,  in  place  of  being  only  three 
a  day,  were  changed  to  five,  although  the  amount  of 
food  remained  about  the  same — the  German  meal 
being  very  simple. 

The  morning  after  we  were  captured,  a  German  ob- 
servation balloon  was  directly  overhead.  Observa- 
tion balloons,  placed  four  or  five  miles  apart,  are 
usually  two  or  three  miles  behind  the  first  line,  so 
that  we  were  able  to  know  about  how  far  we  were 
from  the  front. 

With  each  succeeding  day  the  line  of  ballons  ad- 
vanced south,  and  we  could  see  as  many  as  eight  or 
nine  stretched  along  the  horizon.  We  realized  as 
these  appeared  farther  and  farther  away,  that  the 
boche  was  still  advancing. 

Notwithstanding  the  evidence  of  the  German  push, 
there  was  not  a  prisoner  with  whom  I  talked,  who 
doubted  the  eventual  success  of  the  Allies,  and  I  am 
sure  that  I  did  not,  for  I  believed  that  the  enemy 


22         Behind  the  German  Lines 

would  go  just  so  far,  spending  his  strength  as  he  had 
done  on  the  Somme,  only  to  be  stopped  at  the 
critical  point. 

Nevertheless,  any  rumors  were  more  than  welcome, 
though  many  of  them  we  had  to  take  with  a  grain  of 
salt,  for  it  is  part  of  the  German  nature  to  exaggerate 
in  favor  of  themselves,  and  to  minimize  the  success  of 
their  enemies. 

That  first  week  or  ten  days  we  continued  working 
in  the  ward  under  Mile.  Bedts.  It  was  in  this  ward 
that  Harry  K.  James  lay.  With  the  operation  just 
over  and  the  piece  of  bomb  removed  from  his  side,  he 
was  forbidden  any  except  liquid  food  for  ten  days. 
He  pleaded  humorously  with  the  nurses  and  doctors 
to  be  allowed  something  more,  but  when  they  laugh- 
ingly refused  him,  he  good-naturedly  resigned  himself 
to  a  state  of  hunger.  The  social  circle  of  the  four 
American  prisoners  centered  at  his  bedside.  Our 
spirits  were  never  allowed  to  become  morbid  and  we 
owe  James  much  for  his  cheerfulness. 

The  work  in  the  ward  became  interesting,  even 
though  the  hours  were  long.  There  was  the  lieuten- 
ant who,  though  not  seriously  wounded,  was  gradually 
fading  away,  and  who  demanded  much  attention. 
We  gladly  did  all  we  could  for  him.  All  of  the 
fifty  patients  had  their  own  peculiarities,  although 
most  of  them  suffered  silently,  undergoing  painful 
dressings  with  hardly  a  murmur.  At  times  I  was 
called  into  the  dressing-room  to  lend  a  hand  in  band- 
aging, but  that  usually  fell  to  Lockwood. 

When  the  prisoners,  or  rather  the  personnel  of  the 


Mont  Notre  Dame  23 

hospital,  had  been  Hsted,  and  the  Germans  found 
that  we  three  Americans  were  working  together,  in 
the  same  ward  with  the  regular  attendants,  we  were 
assigned  to  other  wards.  Lockwood  became  an 
assistant  to  a  French  doctor  in  another  ward.  Heck- 
ert  and  I  were  sent  over  to  Salle  i6  to  work  with  two 
French  orderlies. 

We  had  three  shifts  in  the  day.  One  of  us  and  a 
Frenchman  worked  in  the  morning  from  six  o'clock 
until  noon,  and  were  relieved  until  six  in  the  evening, 
when  the  two  that  had  worked  in  the  morning  went 
on  the  night  shift.  The  Frenchman  with  whom  I 
worked  was  nearly  forty-five  years  old,  had  been  in 
the  war  for  four  years,  and  was  a  prisoner  for  the 
third  time.  The  first  time  he  was  captured  he  was 
in  the  infantry  and  was  taken  when  wounded,  but 
was  returned  after  three  months;  the  second  time 
he  was  acting  as  a  stretcher  bearer  when  captured  and 
was  released  after  two  months,  and  now,  the  third 
time,  found  him  accustomed  to  the  Germans  and 
quite  positive  that  his  stay  would  be  as  short  as  before. 

Many  of  the  incidents  at  the  hospital  are  best  left 
unwritten,  yet  each  of  them  contains  its  element  of 
pathos  and  humor.  The  patients  bore  their  suffering 
quietly,  accepting  their  condition  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
and  permitting  their  natural  cheerfulness  to  carry 
them  through  the  long  days  of  recuperation.  We 
remarked  over  and  over  again  how  splendid  these 
men  were.  No  wonder  the  Germans  had  been  un- 
able to  conquer  such  a  spirit  in  the  French  race. 

The  contrast  in  the  mental  attitude  of  the  Hun  and 


24         Behind  the  German  Lines 

his  prisoners,  was  very  noticeable.  The  Hun,  al- 
though successful  in  this  drive,  was  not  nearly  as 
cheerful  as  were  the  prisoners. 

The  guards  had  an  expression  of  discontent,  and 
even  among  themselves  showed  little  satisfaction 
over  the  situation.  The  German  doctors,  who  were 
the  officers  of  the  field  ambulance  which  took  over 
the  hospital,  went  about  their  work  silently  and  with 
that  overbearing  manner  that  is  so  typical  of  the 
German. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  prisoners  for  the  most  part, 
regardless  of  their  unhappy  situation,  went  about 
their  work  with  a  smile  and  a  glad  word  for  each  other. 
Of  course,  we  hated  the  Huns,  hated  their  manner- 
isms, their  language,  and  the  very  sight  of  them. 

The  nurses  were  truly  angels  of  mercy,  as  much  in 
the  mental  influence  they  exercised  over  the  wounded, 
in  not  allowing  them  to  become  downhearted,  as  in 
their  work.  Mile.  Bedts,  no  matter  how  long  the  day 
nor  how  hard  the  work,  attended  the  wounded  with 
the  greatest  kindliness  and  without  ever  allowing 
herself  to  show  weariness  for  an  instant.  It  seemed 
that  her  strength  and  spirits  were  unfailing.  In 
place  of  using  a  stretcher  to  take  the  patients  to  the 
dressing-room,  she  would  pick  them  up  in  her  arms  and 
walk  the  length  of  the  ward,  if  need  be,  and  place 
them  gently  on  the  table.  Not  only  did  she  work 
continuously  through  the  day,  but  if  there  were  an 
air  raid  on  the  neighboring  ammunition  dumps,  rail- 
roadstation,  or  aviation  hangars,  she  would  go  to  her 
ward  and  remain  with  the  wounded. 


Mont  Notre  Dame  25 

Those  air  raids  were  a  terrible  strain  on  the 
wounded.  The  bombs  hitting  so  near,  although  not 
in  the  hospital  grounds,  shook  the  buildings  with 
their  concussion,  and  it  seemed  that  the  avions  were 
directly  overhead,  so  loud  was  the  drone  of  the 
machines.  The  Germans  placed  their  anti-aircraft 
machine  guns  within  the  hospital  grounds,  and 
these  were  as  nerve  racking,  with  their  ominous 
'*rat-tat-tat-tat,"  as  were  the  bombs.  Of  course, 
placing  the  guns  there  was  a  violation  of  the  rules 
of  warfare,  but  that  made  no  difference  to  the 
boche. 

The  ammunition  dumps  were  within  five  hundred 
yards  of  the  hospital,  and  the  hangars  on  the  ridge  of 
hills  to  the  west,  while  the  railroad  ran  past  the 
hospital,  with  a  special  siding  for  it.  But  the  Ger- 
mans used  this  siding  for  ammunition  trains  as  much 
as  for  hospital  trains. 

The  Germans,  moreover,  marched  troops  through 
the  main  street  of  the  hospital,  using  it  as  a  short  cut 
for  their  transports  to  the  southern  road. 

Mont  Notre  Dame  hospital,  near  the  town  of  that 
name,  lay  on  a  rise  of  ground  between  the  Vesle  River 
and  the  plateau  that  rose  on  the  south.  It  was  one 
of  the  largest  and  best  hospitals  on  that  front,  being 
composed  of  over  a  hundred  wards,  with  quarters  for 
the  personnel,  buildings  for  the  supplies,  a  large 
central  kitchen,  several  operating  theaters,  and  five 
immense  hangars  which  were  used  in  case  of  an 
overflow.  The  French  occupied  a  greater  part  of  the 
hospital,  although  the  English  had  taken  over  a  part 


26         Behind  the  German  Lines 

of  it  when  they  had  taken  up  a  portion  of  the  Hnc  in 
the  neighboring  sector. 

When  the  Germans  captured  it  the  night  of  the 
27th  of  May,  they  let  the  work  continue  as  if  nothing 
had  happened.  For  the  first  few  days  there  were 
practically  no  Germans  there,  except  a  few  guards. 
Then  a  field  ambulance  took  charge,  but  even  then 
the  French  and  English  continued  to  care  for  their 
own  wounded.  As  the  line  moved  farther  to  the 
south,  the  hospital  changed  only  in  name,  and  became 
known  as  a  Kriegs-Lazarett,  or  a  war  hospital,  which 
is  the  same  as  a  base  hospital.  Only  German  doctors 
were  allowed  to  operate  on  the  German  wounded,  al- 
though the  French  were  used  as  orderlies  in  conjunc- 
tion with  the  Germans.  The  French  and  English 
had  offered  their  services,  which  the  Huns  refused. 
Later,  however,  when  the  wounded  were  pouring 
into  the  hospital  in  great  numbers,  after  the  Chateau- 
Thierry  fight,  the  allied  doctors  were  asked  to  render 
assistance,  but  they  refused,  in  turn  stating  that  they 
were  no  more  to  be  trusted  than  previously. 

Some  two  or  three  weeks  after  the  hospital  had 
been  taken,  German  nurses  arrived  from  the  rear  to 
do  their  share.  A  more  incompetent  body  of  women 
I  have  never  seen  in  my  life.  They  were  older  than 
the  French  nurses,  plain,  and  severe  looking,  and,  as 
I  learned  later,  quite  as  disagreeable  as  the  German 
men. 

The  German  soldiers  looted  the  supply  rooms  of 
the  hospital  during  the  first  few  days  after  our  cap- 
ture, helping  themselves  to  shoes,  clothing,  and  any 


Mont  Notre  Dame  2^ 

other  articles  that  suited  their  taste.  Nor  were  the 
officers  above  such  actions,  for  they  could  not  resist 
the  temptation  of  taking  food  from  the  storerooms. 

The  result  of  stealing  clothing  had  a  startling  effect, 
for  the  Germans  were  not  averse  to  wearing  whatever 
they  could  lay  their  hands  on,  so  long  as  it  served  the 
purpose  and  was  of  good  material.  An  Allied  soldier 
would  not  think  of  wearing  any  part  of  a  German 
uniform,  but  not  so  with  the  Hun.  If  he  were  able  to 
obtain  a  pair  of  breeches,  leggings,  or  other  apparel, 
he  wore  them.  The  result  was  that  he  might  be  the 
proud  possessor  of  English  puttees,  French  breeches, 
and  American  shoes.  In  such  a  case  it  became  diffi- 
cult at  times  to  tell  whether  the  soldier  was  friend  or 
enemy,  especially  if  he  were  not  wearing  the  little 
round  fatigue  cap  that  is  so  distinctively  German. 
My  own  leather  puttees  were  the  source  of  envy  to 
several  Huns.  I  finally  sold  them,  figuring  that  the 
German  marks  might  come  in  useful,  and  that  it  was 
better  to  get  a  price  for  them  than  to  be  ordered  to 
take  them  off. 

When  the  French  ward  in  which  I  had  been  working 
was  evacuated,  and  the  wounded  either  shipped  to 
the  rear  on  the  hospital  trains,  or  moved  to  other 
wards,  I  was  transferred  to  another  ward,  in  which 
were  German  wounded,  cared  for  by  German  doctors, 
nurses,  and  orderlies.  It  was  not  the  most  pleasant 
task  in  the  world. 

One  of  the  German  nurses,  who  spoke  English  well, 
had  lived  in  Cleveland  for  four  years,  so  she  stated. 
Her  manner  was  not  objectionable,  but  she  was  Ger- 


28  Behind  the  German  Lines 

man,  and  that  was  enough  to  put  me  on  guard,  and 
to  keep  me  from  being  drawn  into  a  conversation  that 
might  prove  uncomfortable.  One  morning,  however, 
we  did  get  into  a  rather  heated  argument,  as  to  "who 
started  the  war. ' '  Like  the  true  German  subject  that 
she  was,  she  denied  that  the  Kaiser  had  begun  it. 
Then  she  began  laying  the  blame  first  on  France  and 
England,  then  on  Russia,  and  finally,  when  I  had 
refuted  her,  she  accused  Belgium  of  beginning  the 
war.  I  am  sure  that  by  this  time  she  is  forced  to 
realize  the  truth.  She  vowed  that  she  would  never 
return  to  America,  inasmuch  as  they  were  "fighting 
the  Fatherland."  In  her  mind,  the  submarine  war- 
fare was  justifiable,  and  the  Lusitania  affair  laudable. 

Heckert  and  I  worked  in  this  ward  until  he  was  laid 
off  because  of  an  infected  foot.  When  I  say  that  * '  we 
worked,"  I  must  admit  that  we  did  not  work  any 
more  than  was  necessary  while  in  the  German  wards. 

There  is  a  general  impression  in  America,  that  the 
Germans  are  noted  for  cleanliness.  From  what  I  saw 
at  the  hospital,  both  among  the  patients  and  the 
nurses  in  the  German  wards,  I  learned  that  the 
contrary  was  the  truth.  Over  and  over  again  I  have 
seen  the  German  nurses  take  the  bed  bottle,  step  to 
the  window,  and  empty  it.  As  a  result,  the  flies 
around  the  ward  became  so  numerous  that  the 
wounded  had  to  have  nettings  over  them,  especially 
those  who  were  too  weak  to  shoo  them  away.  At 
mealtime,  if  a  piece  of  bread  and  jam  were  laid  down, 
in  an  instant  it  was  black  with  flies.  Although  the 
nurse  insisted  that  the  cups  be  washed  every  morning, 


Mont  Notre  Dame  29 

the  water  used  was  only  lukewarm,  and  none  of  the 
cups  was  washed  well  enough  to  be  really  clean. 

While  Heckert  and  I  had  been  working  in  the 
wards,  Ted  had  remained  with  the  French  doctor, 
having  a  rather  easy  time.  For  some  reason  the 
Germans  sent  him  to  the  officers'  ward  next  to  ours. 
The  German  officers  there  had  practically  the  same 
food  as  all  the  other  patients,  with  the  exception  that 
it  was  served  on  china,  with  as  much  ceremony  as 
circumstances  would  allow.  Ted  acted  as  steward, 
waiter,  and  general  maid.  It  amused  Heckert  and 
me  to  see  him  continually  buried  behind  a  pile  of 
dishes,  singing  to  himself  or  improving  his  German 
as  he  splashed  around  in  the  dishwater.  As  the  meals 
were  served  in  courses,  and  they  had  five  so-called 
meals  a  day,  Ted  was  rather  busy. 

One  afternoon  a  little  French  girl  was  brought 
into  the  French  ward,  with  an  ugly  wound  in  her  hip 
which  she  had  received  from  shell  fire  in  her  own  home 
in  a  neighboring  village.  A  few  days  later  a  German 
sergeant  who  was  making  up  the  list  from  that  ward 
for  the  next  hospital  train,  came  to  her  bedside  and 
demanded  rudely : ' '  Was  ist  das  ?''  sls  he  pointed  to  the 
child. 

Her  condition  and  the  circumstances  of  the  ac- 
cident were  explained  to  him. 

''Well,  we  will  mark  her  down  on  the  list  as  a 
French  soldier;  we  can't  go  to  the  trouble  of  changing 
the  list  in  any  form  for  a  civilian,"  he  grunted,  as  he 
passed  on. 

In  the  German  ward  there  was  an  arrogant  young 


30  Behind  the  German  Lines 

boche  soldier  who  spoke  a  little  French  and  English. 
He  had  been  slightly  wounded  in  the  foot,  so  that  he 
was  able  to  move  around  and  interfere  with  every- 
thing that  went  on  in  the  ward.  One  afternoon  he 
told  me  that  I  did  not  speak  as  good  English  as  he 
did.  While  I  realized  my  own  English  was  far  from 
perfect,  his  ignorant  presumption  was  refreshing. 
Conversations  with  him  were  always  amusing,  for  he 
was  so  typically  German  that  it  hurt  him  to  have  an 
enemy  even  insinuate  that  perhaps  the  Germans  were 
in  the  wrong.  He  insisted  that  the  boche  would  be 
in  Paris  within  two  weeks — this  was  about  the  middle 
of  June — and  after  that  they  would  take  Calais  and 
then  go  over  to  London.  Naturally,  I  laughed  at 
him  and  replied  that  the  Allies  were  stronger  than 
the  Germans  believed ;  that  there  were  over  a  million 
Americans  in  the  lines  already,  and  that  these  were  all 
shock  troops.  It  was  his  turn  to  laugh,  so  he 
thought,  as  he  said  that  ''one  good  German  was 
worth  five  Americans."  When  I  replied  that  per- 
haps that  was  so,  but  at  present  there  w^ere  no  good 
Germans  left  as  they  had  all  been  killed  in  the  first 
part  of  the  war,  he  grunted  in  disgust  and  that  ended 
the  conversation. 

He  insisted  that  the  Germans  were  sinking  all  of 
the  Allied  ships,  and  would  not  believe  for  an  instant 
that  the  Vaterland  was  landing  ten  thousand  Amer- 
icans in  Europe  every  trip  that  it  made. 

From  what  we  could  learn  from  those  who  before 
had  been  prisoners,  we  judged  that  within  two  or 
three  weeks  we  should  be  sent  to  a  prison  camp  or 


Mont  Notre  Dame  31 

somewhere  in  the  interior  of  Germany.  But  as  the 
days  wore  into  weeks,  we  gave  up  hope  of  being  im- 
mediately moved  from  the  hospital.  Former  pris- 
oners, such  as  the  Frenchman  with  whom  I  worked, 
asserted  that  non-combatants  were  being  exchanged 
within  two  months  from  the  date  of  capture.,  as 
agreed  upon  at  an  international  convention  held  at 
Geneva. 

The  work  was  telling  on  all  of  the  prisoners,  espe- 
cially on  the  doctors  and  nurses  whose  work  demanded 
such  skill  and  patience,  during  long,  strenuous  hours. 
The  great  question  was,  ' '  When  do  we  go  to  the  rear  ?' ' 
and  we  trusted  from  day  to  day  that  the  next  week 
would  see  us  on  our  way.  Every  week  brought  its 
rumors,  most  of  them  ill  founded,  but  they  were 
sufficient  to  keep  us  in  continual  hope.  One  thing 
most  certainly  would  cause  the  hospital  to  be  evac- 
uated and  that  was  the  return  of  the  line. 

Day  by  day  we  watched  the  observation  balloons 
that  were  hanging  along  the  horizon,  speculating  on 
whether  they  were  any  nearer.  We  questioned  new 
prisoners  that  came  in,  from  whom  we  learned  that 
the  Marne  had  been  reached,  crossed,  and  recrossed; 
that  the  Americans  were  in  the  front  line,  and  that 
the  fighting  would  be  the  fiercest  of  the  war,  for  this 
was  the  supreme  German  effort. 

A  few  American  prisoners  straggled  into  the  hos- 
pital, in  groups  of  four  or  five,  worn  out  and  wounded. 
The  first  to  arrive  was  a  lieutenant  of  the  United 
States  Air  Service  who  gave  us  definite  news  of  the 
American  engagements.     It  was  then  that  we  heard 


32  Behind  the  German  Lines 

for  the  first  time  the  name  Bois  de  Belleau  and  the 
splendid  work  of  the  Marines. 

The  Heutenant,  flying  in  a  squadron  with  eight  other 
planes,  so  he  told  us,  had  been  cut  off  from  his  squad- 
ron and  forced  to  the  ground.  To  save  the  possibility 
of  his  machine  falling  into  German  hands,  he  had 
turned  into  a  nose  dive  for  the  last  two  or  three  hun- 
dred feet,  wrecked  his  aeroplane,  and  he  himself  had 
miraculously  escaped  with  only  a  wrenched  leg.  We 
paid  him  several  visits,  but  as  he  refused  to  talk  when 
cross-examined  by  a  German  officer,  our  visits  were 
soon  forbidden.  The  joke  of  it  was  that  the  lieuten- 
ant had  been  a  lawyer  in  civil  life,  as  was  his  enemy 
examiner,  and  when  it  came  to  a  test  the  Hun  learned 
nothing,  but  himself  disclosed  that  the  enemy  ma- 
chines that  had  forced  the  American  lieutenant  to  the 
ground  were  from  the  famous  Von  Rickenhoff  circus. 
The  Hun  also  promised  to  drop  a  note  behind  Allied 
lines  reporting  that  the  lieutenant  was  a  prisoner,  and 
wounded.  Upon  making  a  complaint  to  the  French 
doctors,  and  they  in  turn  to  the  German  officers  at  the 
hospital,  we  were  able  to  have  the  lieutenant  removed 
from  the  German  privates'  ward  into  an  officers'  ward 
— the  same  one  in  which  Lockwood  had  been  working. 

The  other  Americans,  being  in  all  fewer  than  thirty 
who  came  in  from  time  to  time,  were  mostly  dough- 
boys, and  formed  but  a  very  small  proportion  to  the 
German  wounded  that  were  arriving  under  German 
care.  These  Americans  were  put  in  a  separate  ward, 
and  not  given  as  many  dressings  as  the  Germans 
received. 


Mont  Notre  Dame  33 

What  did  the  small  number  of  Americans  indicate  ? 
Were  only  a  few  Americans  in  the  line?  Did  the 
Americans  prefer  death  while  fighting  to  the  chance  of 
death  after  capture  ?  Was  the  line  advancing  so  that 
all  wounded  fell  into  Allied  hands  ?  We  could  only 
surmise  and  hope  for  the  best. 

Up  to  this  time  no  great  numbers  of  Americans 
had  been  in  the  lines,  and  nothing  very  extensive  had 
been  published  as  to  their  activities,  so  that  these 
prisoners  were  of  as  great  interest  to  the  French  and 
English  as  they  were  to  Lockwood,  Heckert,  and  my- 
self. Perhaps  their  most  noticeable  characteristic 
was  their  youth.  Four  years  had  so  depleted  the 
ranks  of  our  Allies,  that  the  American  soldiers  seemed 
as  mere  boys  compared  with  the  Poilu  and  the 
Tommy. 

During  the  first  few  days  of  our  capture,  we  had 
laid  aside  all  of  the  supplies  that  we  could  get  hold  of, 
especially  food  and  tobacco.  The  tobacco  question 
became  serious  as  the  weeks  ran  on  and  we  had  to 
limit  ourselves  to  only  a  few  smokes  a  day.  When 
the  German  organization  became  perfected  at  the 
hospital,  cigarettes  and  cigars  were  issued  to  the 
German  wounded,  and  working  in  a  German  ward, 
we  had  our  share  of  these.  But  the  quality  was  so 
poor,  probably  being  made  of  leaves  and  paper,  that 
they  hardly  began  to  satisfy  our  American  taste  for 
the  weed.  Some  of  the  men  even  resorted  to  dried 
cherry  leaves. 

The  stock  of  goods  at  the  French  canteen,  which 
the  nurses  had  removed  before  the  Germans  had  a 


34         Behind  the  German  Lines 

chance  to  loot  it,  furnished  a  supply  of  French  to- 
bacco and  other  articles  which  were  distributed 
among  the  Allied  wounded. 

On  the  27th  of  June,  the  Kaiser,  while  making  a 
tour  of  inspection  of  the  front,  paid  a  visit  to  the 
hospital.  He  had  been  expected  for  over  a  week,  and 
when  he  arrived,  with  his  staff,  in  seven  large  open 
Benz  cars,  with  the  royal  coat-of-arms  on  the  doors, 
and  with  his  armed  chauffeur  in  livery,  the  officers  of 
the  hospital  met  him  in  the  main  square  of  the  hospi- 
tal, attired  in  their  best  uniforms,  wearing  their 
swords  and  polished  helmets.  I  did  not  see  the 
ceremony  when  they  received  him,  but  I  noticed 
later,  when  I  managed  to  get  within  twenty  feet  of 
him,  that  the  officers,  except  those  of  very  high  rank, 
stood  at  rigid  attention  and  bowed  stiffly  whenever 
they  w^ere  addressed. 

From  the  pictures  that  I  had  seen  of  the  Kaiser,  I 
had  expected  a  more  imposing  figure.  He  was  of 
only  average  stature,  distinguished  looking,  tanned 
from  exposure  in  the  field,  and  with  a  rather  tired 
expression  which  seemed  to  be  emphasized  by  the  fact 
that  his  mustache  was  drooping  instead  of  upturned. 
His  hair  was  on  the  verge  of  whiteness,  and  his 
withered  arm,  which  rested  on  his  sword,  was  very 
noticeable. 

So  this  was  the  most  hated  man  in  the  world ;  this 
man  of  average  size,  who,  had  he  been  wearing  a 
civilian  suit  and  walking  down  Broadway,  might 
have  passed  for  an  American  of  the  middle  class.  I 
wondered  at  the  time  whether  he  believed  in  his 


Mont  Notre  Dame  35 

heart  that  the  German  cause  was  as  secure  as  he  had 
beHeved  it  to  be  in  19 14,  and  whether  he  thought  that 
when  the  present  war  was  over  he  would  rule  in  glory 
the  Pan-German  Empire. 

As  he  mingled  freely  among  the  Allied  wounded 
and  prisoners,  I  was  a  bit  nervous  for  fear  some  hare- 
brained patriot  might  attempt  to  take  his  life,  for 
which  there  was  ample  opportunity.  This  nervous- 
ness was  not  in  the  least  for  his  safety  but  for  that  of 
the  prisoners,  the  wounded,  and  the  personnel  at  the 
hospital. 

Nothing  happened,  however.  His  inspection  pro- 
ceeded without  interruption.  In  the  English  ward 
he  talked  excellent  English,  asking  the  patients  in 
what  regiment  they  had  served,  and  then  saying  that 
he  was  familiar  with  their  success  when  they  had 
broken  the  German  lines  at  such  and  such  a  place. 
He  remarked  on  the  cleanliness  of  the  English  wards 
as  compared  with  the  German,  and  in  truth,  this  was 
very  noticeable,  for  the  English  orderlies  kept  their 
wards  immaculate. 

The  German  hospital  trains  were  not  well  equipped, 
although  they  served  the  purpose.  The  cars  were  of 
the  type  that  became  obsolete  in  America  fifteen 
years  ago.  The  seats  were  torn  out  and  a  double 
row  of  bunks  built  along  the  sides.  A  train  was  made 
up  of  from  fifteen  to  twenty  cars,  consisting  of  coaches 
for  the  nurses,  doctors,  and  patients,  a  kitchen,  and 
an  operating  car.  These  trains  began  to  arrive  after 
Soissons  had  fallen  into  enemy  hands  and  the  rail- 
roads were  opened  to  traffic.     Towards  the  last,  when 


36  Behind  the  German  Lines 

the  wounded  became  so  numerous,  freight  trains  were 
used. 

On  the  first  of  July,  Harry  K.  James,  together  with 
most  of  the  Frenchmen  in  Mile.  Bedts's  ward,  were 
sent  to  the  rear  on  one  of  these  trains,  bound  for 
Nuremberg.  I  since  have  learned  that  no  room  could 
be  found  in  that  city,  and  they  were  moved  in  turn 
to  Dresden,  Berlin,  Stettin,  and  finally  Stargard,  on 
the  Baltic. 

In  regard  to  the  treatment  they  received,  he  has 
written  me : 

"We  were  not  all  mistreated,  but  rather  untreated, 
so  far  as  the  Germans  were  concerned.  Luckily  for 
us  there  were  three  British  doctors  who  had  preceded 
us  as  prisoners,  and  they  did  all  that  could  be  done 
considering  that  they  had  practically  nothing  with 
which  to  work.  I  was  rather  fortunately  placed, 
being  the  only  Yank  for  over  a  month  living  with 
the  French.  My  party  left  Germany  by  way  of 
Sweden,  Denmark,  and  Scotland  into  the  south  of 
England." 

The  second  week  in  July  the  Germans  held  a  roll 
call  for  all  of  the  prisoners  and  reassigned  some  of  us 
to  new  jobs.  Quite  naturally  we  thought  this  was  in 
preparation  for  our  departure  to  the  rear,  but  it  was 
not.  The  affair  took  most  of  the  afternoon.  To- 
ward the  end  there  were  three  Englishmen  who  were 
still  without  work.  A  German  non-commissioned 
officer  approached  them  and  demanded:  "What 
rank  are  you  ? ' ' 

' '  Sergeants, ' '  they  answered. 


Mont  Notre  Dame  37 

' '  How  long  have  you  been  in  the  army  ? ' ' 

"One  of  us,  ten  years,  the  other  twelve,  and  I  have 
been  in  the  army  for  fifteen,"  came  the  answer. 

The  German  reported  this  to  the  head  officer  who 
looked  them  over  searchingly  and  said  with  a  little 
smile:  ''That  is  long  enough  to  exempt  you  from 
further  work."  Occasionally  the  Germans  revealed 
a  sense  of  humor,  but  most  always  it  was  hidden 
behind  their  taciturnity. 

The  roll  call  did  not  change  our  work  then,  but  the 
following  week  we  were  put  on  the  grave-digging 
squad,  which  included  French  and  Germans. 

The  English  who  were  not  working  in  the  wards 
were  assigned  various  duties,  the  most  tiresome  and 
exacting  being  that  of  stretcher  bearer.  Towards 
the  end  they  were  working  thirty-six  out  of  forty- 
eight  hours  carrying  wounded  from  the  receiving 
station  to  the  operating  rooms,  and  from  there  to  the 
wards.  There  is  no  question  but  that  the  death  of 
Corporal  J.  Herbert  Garside,  R.A.M.C.,  then  acting 
as  a  stretcher  bearer,  was  due  to  long  hours,  insuffi- 
cient sleep,  and  lack  of  nourishment. 

The  graveyard  lay  a  quarter  of  a  mile  to  the  east 
of  the  hospital,  at  the  edge  of  a  large  wheat  field. 
There  the  wounded  French  who  had  died  at  the 
hospital  were  buried.  The  cemetery  contained  long 
rows  of  well-kept  graves,  each  marked  with  a  simple 
wooden  cross  on  which  was  given  the  deceased's 
name,  nationaHty,  and  military  organization,  and,  if 
he  were  Allied,  the  simple  inscription.  Pour  la  France. 
If  the  cross  marked  the  grave  of  a  German,  it  bore 


38         Behind  the  German  Lines 

only  his  name  and  division  or  regiment  and  the  word, 
Allemand. 

When  we  began  our  work,  we  dug  individual 
graves,  and  the  bodies  were  put  into  wooden  coffins. 
But  this  method  of  burial  was  too  slow,  as  the  deaths 
in  the  hospital  were  occurring  faster  than  the  grave 
detail  could  dig.  In  place  of  five  or  six  graves  a  day, 
we  had  to  bury  fifty  or  sixty.  This  was  done  by 
digging  a  grave  thirteen  feet  by  twenty-five,  and 
laying  the  bodies  in  two  rows,  head  to  head.  At 
first  the  bodies  arrived  from  the  morgue  wrapped  in 
blankets.  Soon  the  supply  of  blankets  ran  out  and 
the  bodies  came  down  wrapped  in  sheets,  and  as  the 
supply  of  sheets  was  exhausted,  paper  was  used  for 
shrouds.  On  rainy  days  the  paper  became  soaked 
and  proved  to  be  a  very  insufficient  covering.  The 
bodies  were  laid  in  the  graves  on  their  sides  so  that 
they  would  take  up  less  room.  Their  identification 
tags  were  attached  to  long  wires  tied  around  their 
necks.  As  the  grave  was  filled,  these  were  gathered 
together  and  pulled  directly  over  the  bodies  on  the 
surface,  so  that  later  the  crosses  could  be  erected 
there. 

Gruesome  work?  Yes!  But  the  work  had  to  be 
done,  and  in  one  respect  it  was  preferable  to  ward 
duty,  for  it  was  out  in  the  open. 

At  various  times  the  Germans  had  boasted  of  what 
their  armies  were  about  to  do,  but  no  report  came 
back  that  they  had  been  successful,  or  that  they  even 
had  made  the  attack.  So  when  one  of  the  German 
nurses  informed  me  that  they  were  going  to  make  an 


Mont  Notre  Dame  39 

attack  on  the  night  of  the  14th  of  July,  an  attack 
which  would  end  only  with  the  taking  of  Paris  and 
which  would  be  a  crushing  defeat  for  the  Allies,  I 
gave  her  story  little  consideration. 

The  hospital  was  so  located  in  the  center  of  the 
salient  that  any  activity  on  the  front  was  very  notice- 
able. The  distant  rumble  would  come  first  from  one 
portion  of  the  line  and  then  from  another.  On  the 
night  in  question  the  line  to  the  south  of  us  broke  into 
an  ominous  roll  of  thunder.  The  Germans  had  be- 
gun their  second  drive  for  Paris.  The  cannonading 
continued  through  the  following  days,  varying  little 
in  intensity.  Allied  activity  increased,  the  Allied 
planes  flying  over  the  lines  in  squadrons  of  twenty 
and  thirty  or  more,  regardless  of  the  enemy.  Several 
times  a  day  we  would  stop  our  work  to  watch  a  battle 
in  the  clouds.  Maneuvering  for  position;  darting 
out  of  sight  above  a  cloud ;  swooping  headlong  at  the 
enemy;  flashing  Hke  gilded  birds  in  the  rays  of  the 
sun.  Allied  and  Hun  planes  fought  their  battles  until 
one  or  the  other  fell  disabled  or  in  a  mass  of  flames. 
German  reinforcements  marched  in  long  columns 
towards  the  front,  or  rested  at  the  edge  of  the  woods 
waiting  for  the  movement  forward — troops  that  were 
no  longer  the  pick  of  the  German  nation,  but  worn 
and  tired  through  the  four  years  of  the  war;  fed  on 
steadily  decreasing  rations  and  buoyed  up  on  prom- 
ises of  early  successes  which  never  came.  The  gray 
uniforms  were  often  ill-fitting  and  worn,  and  the 
wearers  either  mere  boys  or  men  far  past  the  military 
age. 


40  Behind  the  German  Lines 

Night  air  raids  increased.  Allied  planes  came  per- 
sistently again  and  again  dropping  their  bombs. 
The  concussion  shook  the  buildings.  Searchlights 
played  across  the  sky,  amid  the  flashes  of  bursting 
shrapnel  from  anti-aircraft  guns. 

After  four  days  of  the  German  attack,  a  new  note 
sounded  on  the  front.  The  shelling  still  continued, 
but  with  a  deeper  and  more  intense  volume.  To  the 
southwest  the  line  rolled  and  thundered  with  an 
added  severity.  Individual  shells  of  high  caliber, 
could  be  heard  now  and  then  above  the  din.  At 
night  flashes  appeared  on  the  horizon  and  the  noise 
continued.  We  knew  that  the  Allies  were  making  a 
counter-offensive.  Only  upon  our  return  to  France 
did  we  realize  how  successful  had  been  the  American 
attack  just  south  of  Soissons. 

From  that  day  on,  the  line  of  observation  balloons 
began  to  come  back.  We  knew  then  that  the  Allies 
had  turned  the  tide  and  that  the  boches  were  being 
pushed  out  of  the  salient. 

We  prayed  for  a  pincer  movement  directed  at  the 
flanks  at  Soissons  and  Rheims,  which  if  successfully 
executed  would  mean  that  the  whole  salient  would 
have  to  surrender,  and  we  would  be  prisoners  no 
longer.  We  realized,  too,  the  strategy  that  the  Allies 
were  using  for  the  attack  coming  from  the  southwest, 
designated  a  flanking  movement.  This  was  also 
apparent  from  the  fact  that  the  boches  were  hurrying 
troops  from  the  south  for  reinforcements  on  the  west. 
Often  we  would  rest  on  our  shovels  and  watch  the 
German   troops,  dust  covered   and   tired,  hurrying 


Mont  Notre  Dame  41 

along  the  road  to  the  west.  And  more  often  we 
would  watch  transport  wagons  going  in  the  opposite 
direction  loaded  with  plunder  consisting  of  every- 
thing from  clothing  and  personal  articles,  to  furniture 
and  farming  implements.  Pianos,  baby  carriages, 
plows,  mirrors,  and  cooking  utensils,  going  to  the 
rear  for  some  frau  in  Germany,  passed  loaded  high  on 
trucks  and  wagons.  These  transports  carried  food 
and  ammunition  to  the  front,  and  plunder  to  the  rear. 

Shortly  after  the  Germans  had  captured  the  hospi- 
tal, they  began  surveying  for  a  telephone  line  and 
erected  poles  across  the  fields.  After  a  long  delay 
the  cross  arms  and  insulators  were  added.  Finally 
the  wires  were  strung  one  evening,  during  the  week 
before  this  last  attempt  for  Paris.  A  few  mornings 
later,  the  wires  were  taken  down.  Then  I  was  quite 
positive  that  the  Germans  expected  to  evacuate  the 
salient. 

The  German  wounded  had  been  coming  into  the 
hospital  as  the  line  advanced  south.  On  the  14th  of 
July,  the  number  increased  greatly,  but  the  maximum 
was  not  reached  until  after  the  i8th.  The  gas  cases, 
hterally  by  hundreds,  walked  into  the  hospital, 
faces  and  hands  swollen,  their  eyes  often  closed  as 
they  were  led  by  their  more  fortunate  comrades. 
Of  course  it  was  horrible,  but  I  felt  no  pity  for  them, 
for  the  boche  had  been  the  first  to  start  using  gas, 
and  there  is  no  effective  retaliation  for  the  Hun,  ex- 
cept the  use  of  his  own  methods.  We  heard  tales 
that  the  Americans  were  using  a  vomiting  gas,  which 
was  so  effective  that  the  boches  were  forced  to  take 


42         Behind  the  German  Lines 

off  their  masks.  When  this  had  done  its  work,  the 
vomiting  shells  were  followed  by  a  poisonous  gas 
when  the  enemy  was  thus  exposed.  This  I  have 
never  been  able  to  verify.  A  large  per  cent,  of  the 
wounded  were  head  cases.  The  last  few  days  these 
were  merely  dressed  at  the  hospital  and  loaded  on 
waiting  trains  for  the  rear. 

On  the  afternoon  of  July  22d,  three  bombs  were 
dropped  on  the  hospital,  killing  thirty  and  wounding 
a  hundred.  A  squadron  of  about  twelve  planes  had 
been  flying  at  an  altitude  of  some  ten  thousand  feet 
over  the  hospital.  A  rush  of  air  was  the  only  warn- 
ing as  the  bombs  fell,  hitting  one  German  ward  and 
wrecking  two  operating  theaters.  At  the  time  of  the 
accident  I  was  down  at  the  graveyard,  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  distant,  and  had  observed  the  planes  flying  in 
formation,  and  noticed  other  planes  flying  singly. 
It  looked  to  me  as  though  the  squadron,  whether 
English,  French,  or  American,  was  on  a  bombing  ex- 
pedition into  the  interior  of  Germany;  had  been  at- 
tacked by  one  or  two  single  boche  fighting  planes, 
and  to  lighten  his  machine,  the  better  to  maneuver 
and  to  fight,  one  of  the  squadron  had  released  his 
bombs.  By  chance  the  hospital  was  beneath. 
When  I  returned  to  the  hospital  grounds  and  saw  the 
terrible  wreckage,  I  realized  why  the  Germans  were 
so  very  indignant.  This  accident,  I  believed,  would 
serve  as  a  good  lesson  to  the  Huns  who  had  inten- 
tionally bombed  so  often  the  Allied  hospitals.  The 
Germans  were  furious,  insisting  that  the  planes  were 
American.  The  air  was  tense  with  hatred,  for  two  Ger- 


Mont  Notre  Dame  43 

man  nurses,  an  officer,  and  many  German  wounded 
were  among  those  killed,  while  few  Frenchmen  and 
but  one  Englishman  were  among  the  unfortunate. 

The  week  after  our  capture,  postal  cards  were 
given  to  the  prisoners  by  the  Germans,  who  informed 
us  that  we  might  write  home,  briefly  stating  our 
situation.  I  doubted  whether  the  Huns  would  ever 
send  them,  but  nevertheless  wrote  simply:  *'I  am  a 
prisoner  of  war  and  in  good  health,"  and  addressed 
the  same  to  Major  W.  H.  Brophy,  a  friend  of  the 
family,  who  was  then  in  Paris  with  the  American  Red 
Cross,  knowing  that  he  would  cable  immediately. 
I  repeated  the  first  three  postals  to  him  at  intervals 
of  two  weeks,  hoping  that  one  at  least  would  reach  its 
destination. 

On  many  of  the  evenings  we  were  in  the  habit  of 
walking  around  the  outskirts  of  the  hospital,  for  the 
exercise.  It  was  during  one  of  these  walks  that  I  saw 
a  German  motor  truck  carrying  a  load  of  French  boys, 
under  armed  guard.  All  of  the  boys  were  under 
military  age.  As  the  truck  rolled  down  the  road  I 
realized  that  they  were  destined  for  the  interior  of 
Germany  to  work  in  the  fields  or  in  the  factories. 

We  called  him  ''Red  Beard"  and  the  name  fitted 
the  man,  but  that  did  not  mean  that  we  disliked  him, 
although  we  looked  upon  him  with  friendly  distrust. 
He  was  a  German  non-commissioned  officer,  who  said 
he  had  lived  in  Kansas  City  for  a  number  of  years. 
He  regretted  that  he  was  in  the  war,  which  came 
about  through  the  fact  that  he  had  returned  to  Ger- 


44         Behind  the  German  Lines 

many  to  visit  his  mother.  When  hostilities  were 
declared,  he  had  been  unable  to  evade  military  ser- 
vice. At  first  our  conversations  were  only  general, 
for  he  assumed  the  usual  German  attitude  towards  us, 
but  later  as  we  came  to  know  one  another,  his  bearing 
changed.  Subsequently,  when  our  discussions  turned 
to  the  war,  he  would  frequently  remark:  "Yes,  you 
have  as  much  right  to  your  opinion  as  I  have  to  mine, 
and  I  think  that  we  can  express  ourselves  without 
getting  angry." 

"When  will  the  war  end?"  I  once  asked. 

"The  war  would  have  ended,  in  my  opinion,  during 
the  battle  of  the  Somme,  in  191 6,  had  the  Allies  kept 
on  pushing  at  the  time.  Germany  would  have  been 
unable  to  withstand  a  concentrated  and  continued 
attack,  as  she  was  short  of  men  and  ammunition,  but, 
fortunately  for  us,  the  battle  did  not  continue."  He 
had  evaded  my  question,  but  later,  when  I  knew  him 
better,  he  confessed  it  as  his  own  belief  that  Germany 
would  lose. 

"Of  course,  I  have  my  own  opinion  as  to  who  will 
win,"  he  said.  "I  have  been  in  America,  and  know 
with  what  energy  she  will  accomplish  that  which  she 
undertakes.  I  do  not  believe  everything  I  am.  told, 
like  our  common  soldiers — have  I  answered  your 
question?"  He  had,  and  I  understood  that  he,  too, 
saw  the  end. 

The  long-looked-for  orders  finally  came.  We  were 
to  evacuate  the  hospital  the  next  morning,  July  27th, 
at  five  o'clock.  The  news  was  almost  as  welcome  as 
if  we  had  orders  to  go  home.     Everyone — doctors, 


Mont  Notre  Dame  45 

nurses,  and  orderlies — was  worn  out  from  the  two 
months  of  nerve-racking  work,  under  the  conscious- 
ness of  being  prisoners,  and  the  physical  strain  of 
being  constantly  in  attendance  upon  the  wounded. 

That  evening  we  made  our  simple  preparations  for 
departure. 

The  French  barracks  in  which  we  had  slept  were  a 
melee  that  evening,  packing,  sorting,  and  discussing 
what  should  be  taken.  When  we  did  pull  out  the 
next  morning,  more  was  left  than  we  took  with  us. 

We  understood  that  we  were  to  march  to  a  rail 
head.  That  necessitated  making  our  packs  as  light 
as  possible,  yet,  at  the  same  time  we  wanted  to  be  as 
well  prepared  for  an  emergency  as  our  meager  sup- 
plies would  permit,  for  the  future  might  mean  per- 
haps months  with  no  relief  from  outside.  Moreover, 
we  felt  that  the  food  situation  was  bad.  As  for  my- 
self, I  carried  two  extra  shirts,  a  change  of  underwear, 
three  pairs  of  worn  socks,  the  old  English  overcoat  I 
had  picked  up  at  the  hospital,  a  blanket  that  I  had 
saved  from  my  roll,  several  cans  of  food,  an  English 
water  bottle,  and  a  few  personal  articles.  Lockwood 
and  Heckert  were  carrying  about  the  same  amount, 
and  Ted,  in  addition,  had  two  loaves  of  bread  which 
we  had  managed  to  save  from  our  rations  during  the 
last  week.  The  Frenchmen  and  Englishmen  had 
about  the  same,  but  in  some  instances  they  carried  a 
great  deal  more,  which  exposed  us  to  the  risk  of  losing 
all  if  some  envious  German  took  the  notion  of  reliev- 
ing us  of  our  packs. 

Where  were  we  going?     How  long  would  we  be 


4^         Behind  the  German  Lines 

there  ?  And  what  would  be  our  situation  once  there  ? 
Would  another  month,  as  we  had  hoped,  see  us  on  our 
way  back  to  France? 

We  were  non-combatants,  and  under  the  rules  of 
warfare  we  should  be  returned  within  three  months 
after  being  captured.  On  the  other  hand  we  realized 
how  the  Huns  ignored  all  rules.  Had  we  not  been 
kept  at  the  front,  not  for  two  weeks,  as  the  agreement 
at  Geneva  stated,  but  for  two  months?  We  had  seen 
how  the  Germans  used  the  roads  through  the  hospi- 
tal for  troop  movements  and  the  transportation  of 
ammunition;  how  they  had  set  up  anti-aircraft 
machine  guns  between  hospital  barracks  and  on  the 
church  of  Mont  Notre  Dame ;  how  a  battery  of  guns 
was  placed  just  outside  the  grounds  of  the  hospital, 
and  how  the  Germans  at  every  possible  point  vio- 
lated the  rules  of  war  under  the  flimsy  excuse  of 
"necessity." 

That  night  I  slept  but  little.  Three  times  I  went 
outside  in  order  to  hear  more  clearly  the  intense  roll 
of  the  thunder  of  the  big  guns  that  encircled  the 
hospital.  Individual  explosions  had  become  more 
distinct  and  gun  flashes  were  visible  on  the  horizon. 
The  Allies  were  coming  back,  that  was  the  paramount 
event.  Now,  at  last,  our  hopes  were  being  realized. 
Heretofore,  rumors  had  been  our  only  source  of  news, 
but  now  the  AlHed  guns  spoke  more  truthfully  than 
rumors.  We  were  living  as  much  in  the  hopes  of  vic- 
tory as  we  were  in  the  hopes  of  our  own  safe  repatria- 
tion. 

We  had  one  of  our  greatest  chances  of  escape  that 


Mont  Notre  Dame  47 

night.  We  three  Americans  talked  the  situation 
over,  and  decided  against  an  attempt.  The  proposed 
plan  was  to  take  what  food  we  had  and  hide  in  the 
dugout  under  the  church  on  the  hill  above  Mont 
Notre  Dame.  Once  hidden  there,  the  line  would 
probably  pass  over  us  and  we  would  be  left  in  the  rear 
of  the  Allied  Hnes.  But,  therein  lay  the  danger. 
How  soon  would  it  pass  over  ?  Our  food  would  only 
last  for  a  few  days  and  meantime  the  retreating  Ger- 
mans would  use  all  dugouts  and  the  advancing  Allies 
would  clean  them  out  with  hand  grenades.  Being 
non-combatants,  we  could  not  be  sure  of  our  position, 
or  our  chances.  We  gave  up  the  attempt,  although 
several  Frenchmen  disappeared  during  the  night. 
We  knew  well  where  they  had  gone  and  we  wished 
them  good  luck  and  godspeed ! 


CHAPTER   III 

LAON 

The  next  morning,  July  27th,  while  it  was  still 
dark,  we  dressed  and  strapped  on  our  packs. 

At  five  we  were  all  collected  in  front  of  the  barracks 
where  we  fell  in  with  our  allotted  groups.  We  three 
Americans  were  in  the  care  of  a  young  French  ser- 
geant. 

Just  at  daylight  we  moved  down  to  the  center  of 
the  hospital  grounds.  There  the  prisoners  were 
gathered  waiting  for  the  convoy  to  form.  It  was  a 
dull  wet  morning,  with  now  and  then  a  sharp  shower 
of  rain.  The  French  in  their  blue  uniforms,  with 
their  packs,  and  bundles,  and  boxes  around  them, 
looked  more  like  troops  waiting  to  go  on  leave,  than 
prisoners  waiting  to  go  into  the  land  of  their  captivity. 
As  in  all  movements  of  troops  there  was  a  delay. 
Rations  were  being  handed  out,  black  German  bread 
and  an  apology  for  jam.  Some  of  us  walked  over  to 
the  tisannerie  for  a  cup  of  barley  coffee,  only  to  find 
the  building  deserted,  although  the  fires  were  still 
smoldering  and  the  pots  of  coffee  were  still  warm. 
At  last  we  were  counted.  That  was  the  first  of  many 
times  on  the  coming  trip  that  we  were  checked  up. 

48 


Laon  49 

Just  before  six  o'clock  several  German  transport 
wagons  without  tops  passed,  carrying  the  French 
nurses.  Never  shall  I  forget  that  scene ;  those  women 
who  had  so  faithfully  performed  their  duty  not  only 
to  the  Allied  wounded,  but  who  had  cared  also  for  the 
German  soldiers,  now  suffered  the  indignity  of  being 
sent  to  the  rear  in  open  horse-drawn  wagons,  in  a 
drizzling  rain  with  no  protection  save  their  army 
capes.  Our  blood  boiled  and  I  know  the  nurses  felt 
their  humiliation,  although  they  smiled  as  they 
passed,  wishing  us  bonne  chance. 

The  English  marched  smartly  by,  nearly  a  hundred 
of  them.  No  wonder  that  the  Huns  hated  them,  for 
their  spirit  could  not  be  broken.  These  men  had 
been  overworked,  and  underfed  even  to  the  point 
of  death,  yet  they  were  as  cheerful  that  morning  as 
if  they  were  going  on  a  holiday.  Their  rear  was 
brought  up  by  two-wheeled  stretcher  carriers  piled 
high  with  their  packs. 

At  six  the  convoy  fell  in  hne.  The  English  led, 
followed  by  the  French.  The  line  dragged  out  for 
over  half  a  mile.  At  last  we  were  really  bound  for  the 
rear.  The  roads  were  sloppy  from  the  drizzling  rain, 
but  we  found  this  was  better  for  marching  than  a 
bright  day  and  dusty  roads. 

We — and  when  I  say  we,  I  mean  all  of  the  Allied 
personnel  of  the  hospital  except  the  nurses  and  doc- 
tors, numbering  five  or  six  hundred — made  up  a  con- 
voy marching  on  foot.  We  soon  learned  our  route 
lay  through  Bazoche,  on  the  other  side  of  the  Vesle 
River.     From  Bazoche,  we  took  the  first  road  north, 

4 


50         Behind  the  German  Lines 

crossing  the  hills  between  the  Vesle  and  the  Aisne. 
Near  Maisy  we  crossed  the  Aisne  and  were  herded 
into  a  farmyard  surrounded  by  barbed  wire,  and  not 
far  from  the  village  of  Beaurieux.  I  never  felt  so 
much  like  an  animal  as  that  afternoon  when  I  arrived, 
footsore  and  tired.  The  barns  and  cowsheds  were 
our  quarters,  and  dirty  straw  our  bedding.  It  was 
here  that  I  became  acquainted  with  that  troublesome 
little  pest  of  the  trenches,  the  cootie.  We  were 
companions  for  the  next  six  weeks,  a  pleasure  which 
he  alone  enjoyed. 

Immediately  upon  our  arrival  we  were  lined  up  and 
counted,  so  that  the  guards  who  had  brought  us  over 
could  deliver  us  to  the  keeper  of  the  farm.  The 
sergeant  in  charge  was  a  typical  Hun,  red,  fat  faced, 
with  little  piggish  eyes,  his  head  set  on  a  bull  neck, 
and  his  whole  appearance  that  of  a  man  whose  only 
delight  in  life  is  cruelty  and  dissipation.  When  he 
gave  an  order  he  fairly  bellowed,  and  if  the  order  were 
slow  in  being  carried  out  he  went  into  a  rage,  waving 
his  arms  and  stamping  the  ground. 

That  night  for  supper  we  formed  in  fours.  The 
line  was  long,  and  by  the  time  I  reached  the  impro- 
vised kitchen,  the  coffee,  made  from  roasted  barley, 
was  only  lukewarm,  and  tasteless.  The  ration  of 
bread,  a  slice  about  two  inches  thick,  was  of  the  same 
quality  as  the  black  bread  that  we  had  at  the  hospital. 

We  had  walked  about  seventeen  kilometers.  Our 
packs  had  grown  heavy  and  it  was  only  by  frequent 
rests  that  we  were  able  to  keep  going.  The  march 
was  hardest  on  the  old  Frenchmen  who  had  been 


Laon  51 

working  in  the  hospital  because  they  were  too  old  for 
active  fighting  in  the  lines.  Many  of  them  had  been 
prisoners  before,  and  others  had  been  wounded  and 
transferred  to  non-combatant  work.  It  was  pitiful 
to  see  them  struggling  along  with  their  packs,  trying 
to  keep  up  with  the  convoy. 

Along  the  road  we  had  seen  evidences  of  the  shell- 
ing and  fighting.  Here  and  there  were  fresh  graves, 
those  of  the  Allies  being  marked  simply  "Englander" 
or  "Franzosisch,"  with  a  new  wooden  cross.  The 
bridge  across  the  Vesle  near  Bazoche  had  been  blown 
up,  and  a  temporary  one  erected.  On  the  road  we 
passed  German  infantry  and  transports  going  to  the 
front,  although  this  movement  was  not  as  heavy  as 
during  the  days  immediately  after  our  capture. 

That  night  more  prisoners  arrived  at  the  farm, 
most  of  them  being  Americans.  Aside  from  the  few 
who  had  come  into  the  hospital  wounded  these  were 
the  first  we  had  seen.  They  had  fared  worse  than  we 
at  the  hospital,  having  only  the  clothes  on  their 
backs.  Many  of  them  were  without  blouses,  and 
none  had  overcoats.  Some  were  still  wearing  their 
helmets,  and  others  had  ripped  the  lining  out  of  the 
helmets  and  were  wearing  them  for  caps. 

They  seemed  very  young  to  me,  after  having  been 
with  the  French  for  so  long.  They  were  full  of 
American  "pep,"  and  while  they  were  not  averse  to 
telling  their  experiences,  there  was  no  bragging  in 
relating  how  "our  boys"  were  giving  the  boche  the 
surprise  of  his  life. 

The  barn  became  quiet,  the  whispering  ceased,  and 


52         Behind  the  German  Lines 

the  men  on  the  piles  of  straw  dropped  off  to  sleep  too 
tired  to  heed  our  filthy  surroundings. 

At  daybreak  we  were  up,  forming  the  coffee  line  in 
the  muddy  courtyard.  The  German  sergeant  in 
charge  walked  back  and  forth  along  the  line,  taking 
every  possible  opportunity  to  exhibit  his  temper,  and 
flying  into  a  rage  without  the  least  provocation. 

We  had  scarcely  finished  the  barley  coffee  and 
black  bread  when  the  order  was  given  to  fall  in. 
Another  count  and  another  delay,  before  we  finally 
swung  our  packs. 

'' Achtung!  "  rang  out  the  German  order.  At  six 
o'clock  the  column  moved  down  the  road  headed 
south  for  CEuilly. 

I  had  been  in  the  Aisne  valley  for  over  a  year  with 
the  French  army.  I  had  seen  its  villages,  those  which 
were  not  mere  piles  of  crumbling  stone,  crowded  with 
French  troops  en  repos.  I  had  worked  over  its  roads, 
crossed  its  broken  bridges,  and  seen  the  havoc 
wrought  in  a  valley  once  beautiful.  I  had  shared  the 
tiring  drudgery  of  the  work  behind  the  lines  with 
the  Frenchmen  as  I  had  shared  their  pleasures  over 
a  bottle  of  their  best  wine.  I  had  caught  the  spirit 
of  France  from  personal  contact. 

That  morning  a  feeling  of  depression  came  over  me 
as,  footsore,  I  passed  over  the  same  roads  to  see  the 
Germans  quartered  in  the  villages.  I  resented  the 
Hun  occupation  as  if  it  had  been  my  own  land. 

A  freight  train  lay  on  the  siding  near  CEuilly,  and 
much  to  our  distress  we  recognized  the  French  nurses 
and  doctors  who  had  been  at  the  hospital  as  they 


Laon  53 

stood  in  the  doors  of  the  last  two  cars  waving  to  us 
as  we  passed.  What  more  indignities  were  they  to 
suffer? 

''Sacre  nom  deDieuI  C est  terrible  T'  an  old  French- 
man murmured  at  my  side. 

At  Bourg-et-Comin  we  began  the  ascent  of  the 
Chemin-des- Dames,  walking  slowly  and  sweating 
under  our  packs.  The  Chemin-des-Dames,  so  called 
from  the  name  of  the  road  that  runs  along  its  summit, 
is  a  plateau  north  of  the  Aisne  River.  The  Germans 
had  been  entrenched  on  the  northern  side,  and  the 
French  on  the  southern  since  March,  191 7,  neither 
able  to  dislodge  the  other  until  October  of  the  same 
year  when  the  Germans  had  been  pushed  back  to  the 
Ailette  River. 

It  was  here  that  a  German  guard  spied  Lockwood, 
Heckert,  and  me,  walking  with  the  Frenchmen.  He 
undoubtedly  thought  that  we  should  be  in  the  rear 
of  the  column  with  the  English  and  the  Americans. 
The  full  meaning  of  his  angry  command  was  clear, 
but  we  were  so  foolish  as  to  try  to  argue. 

''Lose  ihr  Schweinef  yelled  the  guard  as  he  threw 
a  cartridge  into  the  breech  of  his  rifle.  We  did  not 
linger. 

In  a  ravine,  south  of  the  Chemin-des-Dames 
proper,  we  passed  the  remains  of  what  had  been  the 
village  of  Vendresse,  now  merely  a  heap  of  stones 
scattered  by  the  continual  pounding  of  shells  through 
four  years  of  war. 

Crossing  the  Chemin-des-Dames  was  tedious  as  the 
torn  and  muddy  road  stretched  up  the  long  ascent. 


54         Behind  the  German  Lines 

Transport  wagons  drawn  by  small  Russian  ponies 
splashed  through  the  mud  holes;  caissons  and  guns 
lumbered  along,  followed  by  tired  Huns  in  their  dirty 
uniforms  of  field  gray;  and  now  and  then  a  heavy 
truck  with  steel  spring  tires  rumbled  to  the  rear  with 
plunder  or  to  the  front  with  supplies.  Passing  it  all, 
or  being  passed,  the  long  column  of  prisoners  con- 
tinued wearily.  As  the  day  grew  hotter,  the  weight 
of  our  packs  seemed  to  increase,  and  we  shifted  the 
load  from  one  position  to  another. 

Dugouts  built  into  the  sharp  slope  lined  the  road, 
some  intact,  others  caved  in  and  crumbling.  A  few 
gun  emplacements  stood  empty,  the  camouflage 
flapping  gently  in  the  breeze.  Old  equipment  lay 
scattered  along  the  road,  haversacks,  shell  casings, 
unexploded  shells  and  bombs,  and  now  and  then  a 
shattered  car  or  an  abandoned  rifle,  all  added  to  the 
wretchedness  of  the  view. 

We  were  now  crossing  what  was  no-man's-land 
prior  to  the  German  advance  in  May.  Here  as 
before,  one  shell-hole  joined  the  next,  forming  a  deso- 
late stretch  of  land  obstructed  by  torn  wire  entangle- 
ments, cut  by  jagged  trenches,  blown  to  pieces,  fought 
over,  taken  and  retaken,  and  now  left  in  its  waste 
while  a  new  battlefield  was  in  the  making  to  the  south. 
No  sign  of  habitation,  no  movement  on  the  ravaged 
landscape  except  the  procession  of  which  we  formed  a 
part,  only  the  devastated  slopes,  the  burnt  logs  lying 
among  the  weeds  that  struggled  to  efface  the  barren- 
ness with  a  bit  of  color.  That  was  the  battlefield  of 
yesterday.     I  wondered  if  the  last  two  months  had 


Laon  55 

seen  the  Valley  of  the  Marne  laid  waste  in  a  similar 
manner. 

We  passed  a  lone  British  prisoner  working  on  the 
road,  filling  in  the  shell-holes  with  crushed  rock. 

*'Hi,  Tommy,  what's  your  outfit? "  sang  out  one  of 
the  Englishmen  in  our  column. 

**  Royal  Army  Medical  Corps — "  he  replied  with 
a  weary  smile,  but  I  did  not  catch  the  number  of  the 
regiment,  though  I  shall  always  remember  his  drawn, 
tired  expression,  his  lean  features,  and  his  bent  back, 
too  exhausted  to  straighten  up  as  we  passed. 

While  at  the  hospital  I  had  heard  of  the  small 
prison  camp  near  Mont  Notre  Dame  and  had  seen  a 
few  of  the  prisoners  who  were  working  on  ammuni- 
tion dumps  and  roads.  They  had  come  into  the 
grounds  on  several  occasions  in  quest  of  such  food  and 
clothing  as  they  could  pick  up  from  us  who  were  more 
fortunate.  Their  tales  were  not  encouraging,  or 
their  condition  hopeful,  for  they  were  living  on  water 
soup  and  black  bread,  both  in  small  quantities,  while 
their  taskmasters  demanded  long  hours.  The  Rus- 
sian prisoners  were  in  a  worse  pHght.  Their  clothing 
was  little  better  than  rags.  Like  famished  animals, 
their  hunger  forced  them  to  hunt  for  food  in  the  swill 
barrels  near  the  kitchen. 

I  felt  that  we  in  the  convoy,  who  were  non-com- 
batants, who  had  been  taken  as  a  unit,  and  who  had 
worked  as  a  unit  at  the  hospital,  probably  would  be 
kept  together  and  repatriated  together.  I  did  not  let 
myself  dwell  on  the  future.  I  merely  hoped  for  the 
best. 


56         Behind  the  German  Lines 

The  long  hours  dragged  on.  The  descent  of  the 
Chemin-des- Dames  was  easier,  and  we  reached  the 
Ailette  River  at  midday.  The  roads  were  still 
packed  when  the  guards  ordered  a  halt.  The  march, 
on  practically  an  empty  stomach,  had  left  us  raven- 
ous, but  we  had  to  satisfy  ourselves  with  a  small  ra- 
tion of  black  bread  and  jam  washed  down  with  water. 
Fifteen  kilometers  since  six  o'clock — no  wonder  that 
we  were  tired ! 

The  lack  of  German  supply  parks  along  the  road 
surprised  me.  I  had  expected  to  see  huge  ammuni- 
tion dumps  and  stations  piled  with  lumber  and  other 
trench  equipment,  but  I  saw  none.  Perhaps  the 
Germans  were  short  of  supplies  or  had  moved  all  to 
the  south  during  their  advance. 

While  lying  there  a  party  of  German  officers,  with 
their  immaculate  uniforms,  black  shining  helmets, 
and  decorations,  passed,  presenting  a  striking  con- 
trast to  the  bedraggled  army  through  which  they 
picked  their  way.  One  officer,  a  handsome  young 
fellow,  noticed  us. 

''Americans?"  he  called  out. 

"Yes!"  answered  one  of  the  men. 

"You're  a  long  way  from  Broadway,  boys,"  he 
remarked  with  a  chuckle,  and  then  added  with  a 
sneer,  "and  it'll  be  a  hell  of  a  long  time  before  you'll 
get  back!" 

Going  on  we  passed  the  desolate  and  scarred  village 
of  Chamouille,  and  started  to  climb  another  line  of 
hills.  The  road  behind  us  was  still  congested  with 
traffic,  as  was  the  road  along  the  Ailette  River  going 


Laon  57 

north.  I  turned  and  took  my  last  view  of  that  war- 
worn sector  of  France.  From  that  time  on  we  were 
to  see  the  other  half — the  half  that  was  occupied  by 
the  Germans.  Often  during  the  months  that  I  had 
been  with  the  French  army  I  had  wondered  what  lay 
behind  the  Hun  lines.  To  me  the  line  had  always 
seemed  like  the  border  of  France  with  nothing  be- 
yond except  what  the  imagination  could  bring  forth. 

The  summit  was  reached.  Before  us  green  hills 
rose  in  the  distance  out  of  a  vast  green  plain.  The 
barrenness  had  changed  suddenly  to  abundant 
fertility.  We  had  stepped  into  a  new  land.  The 
faint  roll  of  artillery  behind  us  was  the  only  indica- 
tion that  we  were,  or  had  been,  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
battlefield.  In  the  distance,  situated  on  a  small 
plateau,  could  be  seen  the  city  of  Laon.  The  cathe- 
dral rose,  a  single  spire  above  the  city,  standing  out 
clear  against  the  soft  light  of  the  afternoon  horizon. 
At  first  I  did  not  realize  that  that  was  Laon,  our  des- 
tination, for  it  seemed  too  far  to  be  reached  before 
nightfall. 

As  we  descended  farther,  the  poplars  along  the 
roadside  hid  the  view,  and  we  approached  unawares 
the  village  of  Bruyeres.  Our  unmeasured  steps 
sounded  through  the  streets  as  if  in  answer  to  the 
expressions  of  curiosity  with  which  the  Germans 
watched  us  as  we  passed.  A  few  French  signs  re- 
mained over  the  doors  of  the  shops  and  fewer  French 
civilians,  prisoners  since  19 14,  lingered  in  the  door- 
ways smiling  upon  us  sadly.  We  were  leaving 
behind  all  that  was  French.     The  sign,  Nach  Laon, 


58         Behind  the  German  Lines 

made  us  realize  that  we  were  going  into  a  territory- 
more  thoroughly  under  German  domination.  The 
very  notices  in  heavy  German  script  over  the  stores 
impressed  us  with  this  fact  more  strongly  than  did 
the  great  predominance  of  German  soldiers.  Kom- 
mandantur  replaced  the  word  Marie  over  the  town 
hall  with  a  certain  cruel  military  significance. 

Leaving  the  village,  the  road  followed  the  railroad 
line  to  the  foot  of  the  plateau  on  which  stood  Laon. 
Between  the  tall  shade  trees  we  could  see  the  cool 
green  meadows  and  the  fields ;  the  whole  countryside 
offered  a  tempting  view. 

After  a  short  rest  we  started  on  the  last  five  kilo- 
meters. It  seemed  as  though  we  could  neither  rise 
nor  bring  ourselves  to  walk  another  step.  Our  backs 
ached,  our  feet  were  sore,  our  tongues  were  dry,  and 
our  packs  seemed  too  heavy  to  be  worth  the  trouble 
of  carrying  them  farther.  As  the  command  was 
given,  the  column  straggled  back  into  the  road  and 
the  rear  of  this  broken  formation  was  brought  up  by 
those  whose  every  step  was  painful.  Would  we  ever 
reach  our  destination,  whatever  it  might  be?  Past 
one  or  two  large  residences  with  green  lawns  behind 
iron  gates,  and  stately  doorways  visible  through  the 
shrubbery,  up  the  winding  road  we  continued  until 
we  entered  the  city  proper.     The  climb  was  over. 

Our  guards  led  us  through  a  narrow  thoroughfare 
crowded  with  shops.  The  population,  French  civil- 
ians for  the  most  part,  moved  to  the  edge  of  the 
sidewalk,  asking  hasty  questions  in  their  hope  of 
gathering  some  news  of  the  front,  openly  showing  their 


Laon  59 

pleasure  when  hearing  that  the  AlHes  were  again  on 
the  advance.  French  children  walked  along  beside 
us  chatting  persistently  until  a  guard  rudely  shoved 
them  away.  An  old  woman  burst  into  tears  when  she 
saw  us,  mumbling  something  about  mes  enfants.  A  girl 
smiled  with  delight  when  she  saw  the  Americans,  for 
it  revealed  to  her  that  our  soldiers  were  in  the  lines. 

Although  it  was  nearly  seven  in  the  evening,  many 
of  the  stores  were  open,  their  windows  sparingly  dis- 
playing goods.  That  hasty  glimpse  of  Laon  was  all 
that  I  was  to  have  and  it  did  not  satisfy  my  curiosity 
as  to  the  treatment  of  the  civilians  by  the  invaders. 

We  halted  at  the  eastern  end  of  the  city,  dropping 
our  packs  where  we  stood.  Several  of  the  men  left 
the  line  to  fill  their  canteens  from  a  faucet  on  the 
curbing.  An  old  man  and  his  son,  realizing  that  we 
were  thirsty,  brought  out  a  tall  pitcher  of  water.  He 
had  managed  to  empty  three  of  these  before  the  guard 
interfered  and  drove  us  back  into  the  line  with  the 
exclamation,  ''SchweinereiT' 

From  where  we  stood  we  could  see  our  prison. 
Before  the  war  it  had  been  a  French  armory,  a  large 
massive  stone  building  of  four  stories.  On  the  roof 
and  at  the  windows  were  prisoners  calling  to  us  in 
their  attempt  to  learn  the  news. 

The  head  of  the  column  was  passing  slowly  down 
the  incline  that  the  narrow  alleyway  cut  through  the 
outer  wall.  We  followed,  the  guards  counting  us  as 
we  passed.  Beyond,  we  crossed  the  stone  bridge 
over  the  empty  moat,  through  a  tunnel,  through  the 
inner  wall  and  into  the  prison  court. 


6o  Behind  the  German  Lines 

We  had  walked  twenty-eight  kilometers  that  day. 
The  fact  that  our  guards  were  not  harder  on  us  was 
probably  due  to  the  fact  that  they  also  had  to  walk 
the  same  distance  and  naturally  made  the  trip  com- 
fortable for  themselves. 

Laon  prison,  the  segregating  camp  for  prisoners 
bound  for  the  interior  of  Germany,  will  ever  remain 
fixed  in  my  memory  as  the  filthiest  hole  in  the  terri- 
tory occupied  by  the  Germans.  And  the  prisoners 
who  occupied  it  will  long  remember  their  pitiful 
condition.  Prisoners  who  had  been  working  behind 
the  German  lines  were  sent  here,  ragged,  exhausted, 
and  often  absolutely  sick,  but  not  broken  in  spirit. 

The  prison  grounds  covered  the  eastern  end  of  the 
Laon  plateau  and  were  cut  off  from  the  city  proper 
by  two  earth  walls  on  either  side  of  a  deep  but  empty 
moat.  A  bridge  and  tunnel  gave  entrance  to  the 
front  prison  yard  which  was  about  forty  feet  wide  and 
extended  the  length  of  the  building.  An  arcade,  or 
large  open  hall,  opposite  the  entrance,  ran  through 
the  building,  opening  up  in  the  rear  yard  which  was 
larger  and  used  by  the  prisoners  except  for  a  few 
hours  in  the  morning.  A  high  wire  fence  enclosed 
the  southern  and  eastern  sides  of  the  yard,  while  on 
the  northern  side  ran  a  long  two-story  building  at  the 
eastern  end  of  which  were  trees  and  a  bit  of  lawn  open 
to  the  prisoners.  Between  this  lawn  and  the  begin- 
ning of  the  wire  fence  rose  a  sharp  mound  which 
overlooked  the  rear  yard.  On  this  always  stood  one 
or  more  of  the  guards. 

When  we  had  passed  over  the  bridge  and  through 


Laon  6i 

the  tunnel  we  found  the  head  of  the  column  had 
begun  to  pass  through  the  kitchen  at  the  northern 
end  of  the  prison  building.  Lined  up  in  fours  as  we 
were,  I  soon  saw  that  only  two  lines  were  passing 
through  the  kitchen  and  these  very  slowly.  As  we 
proceeded  I  saw  that  our  rations  were  to  be  a  small 
sack  of  hard-tack,  one  sack  for  two  men,  and  a  cup  of 
so-called  tea.  Being  handed  the  sack  we  were  re- 
quired to  empty  it  and  hand  it  back.  This  meant 
that  our  hat  or  anything  available  had  to  serve  the 
purpose  of  a  receptacle.  For  holding  the  tea,  and 
later  for  the  soup  which  was  only  served  at  noon,  I 
was  lucky  enough  to  have  an  English  mess  kit,  while 
many  of  the  men  had  only  an  empty  tin  can  or  the 
tin  container  of  a  German  or  French  gas  mask.  The 
tea  was  ladled  out  from  huge  vats  and  served  as  we 
passed.  The  kitchen  was  a  mere  shack  and  the 
cooking  done  in  the  crudest  manner.  At  times,  as 
I  noticed  later,  the  kitchen  floor  was  often  under  an 
inch  of  sHmy  water  and  the  place  stunk  from  the 
refuse  lying  about. 

We  were  more  interested  in  our  food  after  receiving 
our  rations  than  in  our  immediate  surroundings. 
The  Englishman  with  me  squatted  on  the  ground, 
following  the  example  of  the  other  groups  about  us, 
and  began  dividing  the  hard-tack.  It  seemed  so 
ridiculous  to  me  to  be  dividing  the  hard-tack  cracker 
by  cracker,  as  if  it  were  a  thing  of  real  value,  which  in 
fact  it  was  at  the  time,  and  which  I  more  fully  real- 
ized as  the  days  passed. 

When  we  looked  around  for  a  place  to  sleep  we  dis- 


62  Behind  the  German  Lines 

covered  that  the  bunks  in  the  building  were  all  occu- 
pied and  we  were  informed  we  would  find  room  in  the 
cellar  of  the  building  on  the  northern  side.  Upon 
making  investigation  we  decided  to  camp  there  for 
the  night. 

The  cellar  was  a  series  of  vaults  running  the  length 
of  the  building.  On  the  floor  lay  a  covering  of  musty 
straw  over  rocks  and  debris.  By  the  light  of  a  candle 
stub  Heckert  selected  a  place  next  to  the  wall  where 
we  spread  our  blankets.  As  I  dropped  off  to  sleep 
I  realized  how  prisonlike  our  surroundings  were. 
The  supper,  practically  bread  and  water,  and  the 
arched  roof  of  the  vaults  added  to  the  atmosphere  of 
being  in  a  dungeon  apart  from  the  world. 

The  next  morning  about  five  o'clock  a  guard  came 
down  the  passage,  stumbling  over  the  bodies  of  sleep- 
ing men  and  awakening  us  with  his  guttural  curses. 
We  rolled  out  and  packed  our  belongings,  only  to 
find  when  we  came  up  into  the  open  that  it  was 
barely  daylight. 

Prisoners  who  had  been  in  camp  for  some  time 
warned  us  that  if  we  wished  to  retain  any  of  our 
possessions  that  we  should  carry  them  with  us  con- 
stantly, for  stealing  was  the  prevailing  practice  and 
articles  disappeared  if  left  for  even  a  moment.  We 
soon  became  accustomed  to  carrying  our  packs  with 
us  wherever  we  went. 

Unless  a  person  has  lived  in  the  midst  of  great 
poverty  it  would  be  hard  to  visualize  the  destitution 
to  which  the  prisoners  were  subjected.  Those  who 
were  dependent  on  the  Germans  for  food  and  had 


Laon  63 

been  for  some  time  were  mere  skeletons,  especially 
those  who  had  worked  on  the  roads  and  the  ammuni- 
tion dumps.  We  who  came  from  the  hospital  were 
the  exceptions,  for  we  had  had  a  living  ration  and  still 
had  a  little  in  reserve.  The  clothes  of  many  were  in 
tatters;  some  had  only  threadbare  trousers,  ragged 
shirts,  and  worn-out  shoes. 

The  mass  of  prisoners  as  a  whole  represented  what 
remained  of  once  fine  fighting  units  which  had  gone 
heroically  into  action  and  by  some  miracle  had  come 
out  alive  to  face  a  living  death.  The  German  system 
whereby  a  prisoner's  spirit  might  be  broken  failed  in 
the  great  majority  of  cases.  I  cannot  recall  a  single 
instance  of  an  Englishman,  Frenchman,  or  American 
who  would  not  have  been  more  than  willing  to  have 
gone  back  to  the  front  could  he  have  escaped  from 
Germany.  As  was  often  remarked,  the  Allies  could 
have  had  no  better  than  these  same  men  who  were 
rotting  in  the  camps.  They  were  imbued  with  a 
burning  hatred  for  the  enemy,  a  hatred  that  had 
grown  with  the  insults  and  privations  heaped 
upon  them,  and  once  back  in  the  lines  they 
would  have  gone  through  hell  fire  for  the  sake  of 
revenge. 

When  we  reached  the  yard  the  prisoners  were  be- 
ginning to  crowd  towards  the  kitchen.  Three  or  four 
thousand  prisoners  were  there,  I  should  judge,  most 
of  whom  were  English  and  French,  with  a  few  Italians 
and  Americans.  Feeding  these  took  an  unusually 
long  time  and  the  three-hour  wait  was  hardly  worth 
the  can  of  imitation  coffee  that  was  served  us.     With 


64  Behind  the  German  Lines 

a  little  of  the  hard-tack  saved  from  the  previous 
night  we  made  our  meager  breakfast. 

Once  through  the  kitchen  we  were  again  in  the 
front  yard  of  the  prison.  Here,  as  we  learned  from 
other  prisoners,  we  were  to  be  kept  until  a  detail 
cleaned  up  the  yard  and  buildings,  and  from  this 
place  also  still  other  details  were  to  be  picked  for 
various  work  in  German  depots  in  Laon  or  for  road 
work.  These  details  left  the  prison  every  morning, 
walking  a  mile  or  two  to  their  work,  working  all  day, 
then  walking  back  in  the  evening.  Quite  naturally 
the  prisoners  attempted  to  evade  this  service.  Many 
found  hiding  places  on  a  rise  of  ground  near  the 
kitchen,  others  managed  to  slip  by  a  guard  and  get  on 
the  roof  of  the  building,  but  in  nearly  every  instance 
they  were  discovered. 

Most  of  the  guards  were  young  fellows  who  had 
never  seen  action  at  the  front,  and  who  perhaps  for 
this  very  reason  wished  the  more  to  show  their 
authority,  which  they  exercised  quite  freely  with  the 
aid  of  long  cudgels.  It  was  not  an  uncommon  sight 
to  see  a  guard  strike  a  prisoner  again  and  again  in  a 
fit  of  unprovoked  anger.  Our  blood  boiled  at  such 
treatment  but  it  was  better  to  hold  our  peace  than 
give  the  Hun  an  excuse  for  further  outrages. 

Guarding  the  entrances  to  the  rear  yard  were 
armed  soldiers.  To  slip  by  these  was  at  times  an  easy 
matter.  One  man  could  attract  the  guard  and  hold 
his  attention  while  the  others  slipped  by  him.  Once 
in  the  rear  yard  there  was  little  chance  of  being  taken 
for  work.     After  the  details  left  the  remaining  pris- 


Laon  65 

oners  were  herded  into  the  moat  on  the  southern  side 
of  the  prison. 

Once  there  our  worries  were  over  for  the  morning. 
The  conditions  seemed  too  good  to  be  true  with  the 
trees  and  grass  and  clear  sky.  The  men  lay  around 
in  groups  playing  cards,  visiting,  or  sleeping.  But 
usually  the  search  for  the  always  present  cootie  was 
the  first  task  of  the  morning.  The  spectacle  of  the 
men  in  all  manner  of  undress  busily  engaged  in 
hunting  for  the  pesky  little  animal  was  made  more 
comical  by  the  guard's  haughty  air  of  disdain.  All 
prisoners  were  swine  in  the  eyes  of  the  Germans, 
but  that  name  which  they  so  constantly  apply 
to  others  is  the  only  one  that  really  fits  them 
perfectly. 

"The  best  cigarettes  I  ever  tasted  were  Fatimas." 
I  could  not  help  overhearing  the  conversation  of  a 
group  behind  me.  The  man  who  spoke  had  an 
English  accent. 

"Must  have  been  in  America,  Buddy,"  came  the 
answer. 

"Yes,  worked  in  Arizona  for  nine  years." 

My  curiosity  was  at  once  aroused,  and  I  turned 
to  the  group  and  asked,  "What  part  of  Arizona?" 

"Oh,  you  would  not  know  the  place,"  the  English- 
man replied. 

"Maybe  not,"  I  answered,  "but  where  was  it?" 

"Bisbee." 

"Perhaps  you  know  Mr.  and  Mr.  ,"  I 

questioned,  trying  to  remember  if  I  had  seen  him  at 
home.     His  jaw  dropped  as  he  listened  to  me. 


66         Behind  the  German  Lines 

*'You  bet  I  do,"  and  we  nearly  dropped  into  each 
others'  arms. 

Stanley  Hancock,  so  he  signed  his  name,  from 
Cornwall,  England,  was  the  first  man  I  had  met 
from  home  on  that  side  of  the  water.  Thus  began 
a  friendship  that  lasted  during  the  next  five  months. 

As  the  noon  hour  approached  we  were  led  into  the 
yard.  A  long  delay  preceded  the  serving  of  the  soup. 
That  soup  resembled  a  most  disgusting  swill.  I  ven- 
ture that  a  good  American  farmer  would  not  feed  it 
to  his  pigs.  The  ingredients  consisted  of  sliced 
carrots  and  cabbage  boiled  in  water  with  a  little  meal 
added.  It  must  have  been  standing  for  a  long  time 
before  it  was  served,  for  the  odor  and  taste  were 
worse  than  decayed  sauerkraut.  But  we  ate  it — w^e 
had  to,  or  starve. 

That  night  we  slept  in  the  prison  in  one  of  the 
rooms  on  the  fourth  floor  where  we  had  managed  to 
secure  bunks.  Five  or  six  of  us  had  formed  an  offen- 
sive and  defensive  alliance,  and  one  man  was  chosen 
to  watch  our  belongings  until  we  turned  in  for  the 
night. 

The  room  was  crowded.  Frenchmen  sat  around 
an  improvised  table  chatting  over  a  game  of  cards. 
A  few  Enghsh  Tommies  who  had  obtained  some  flour, 
probably  while  on  detail  at  some  German  depot,  had 
rigged  a  small  stove  and  were  baking  cakes  on  the 
warm  bricks.  Men  crowded  in  the  doorway  or 
lounged  on  their  bunks,  always  keeping  an  eye  on 
their  possessions.  By  nightfall  the  July  atmosphere 
was  stifling.     One  window  at  each  end  of  the  room 


Laon  67 

was  insufficient.  An  open  bucket  serving  as  a  latrine 
tainted  such  air  as  came  in  the  door. 

I  lay  awake  a  long  time  that  night,  revolting  at  the 
conditions  to  which  we  were  subjected,  wondering 
when  we  were  to  move  on,  and  where,  and  more 
especially  trying  to  anticipate  an  Allied  advance. 

A  few  of  us  had  convinced  ourselves  that  we  would 
be  in  America  within  a  year.  I  felt  sure  that  the 
war  could  not  last  more  than  six  months.  German 
morale  was  broken,  German  supplies  were  short,  and 
German  efficiency  was  weakening  while  the  American 
strength  was  increasing  daily. 

The  next  day  passed  as  the  former.  Rumors  led 
us  to  believe  that  we  would  be  moved  into  the  interior 
within  a  day  or  two.  The  French  and  English 
officers  and  nurses  had  arrived  from  the  hospital, 
after  a  tiresome  journey  by  freight,  but  we  did  not 
have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  them. 

Just  after  dinner — that  is,  midday  soup — a  young 
guard  was  trying  to  collect  a  detail.  A  number  of 
us,  Americans  and  English,  were  lying  near  the  fence 
in  the  sun.  He  came  over  waving  his  club  and  yell- 
ing :''Komm,  lose,  arbeir  (Come,  hurry,  work).  No  one 
moved  except  a  Tommy,  who  pointed  to  his  Red 
Cross  band  on  his  sleeve  and  said,  " Rothes  Kreuz,  wir 
wollen  nicht  arheiten''  (The  Red  Cross  does  not  work). 
Non-combatants  were  supposed  to  be  exempt  from 
work. 

''Es  macht  nichts  aus,  Schwein,  komm,  lose,  lose." 
(It  makes  no  difference,  pigs,  come,  hurry.) 

A  few  of  us  rose  and  followed.     He  lined  us  up 


68  I'chiiifl  the  CicrriMii  Lines 

and  IIkii  liunrfi  1,0  (md  morr  meruit:;  for  liis  dirty 
Wf)rl:.  Ilr.  h;i<  1-:  oikc  tiiriM  d  \\\<-  line  disappCcircd  as 
jl  I, lie  c'K  111  li.'id  opened  up  I  did  not,  wait,  to  see  if 
he  :inccee(le<|  in  ;'('tt,in;'.  enon^di  men. 

'rii;d.  cvenin)',  we  were  i:i;;ned  a,  tr.'ivelin;',  ration  — 
LniiliMit'ei     (  liee'.e,   oi     I )loor | wn j; .t.      ICaeli    ni.'ui    re- 
ceived .'iloni    I  W'»  onnee  ,  ol  one  f)|-  1  lie  otliei  . 

The  i.ilioii  ni.'ide  M,  :.eeni  l.'iirly  eert,a,in  l,hat  we 
would  he  ni(»vni)',  nilo  the  inl.eiioi-  of  Oerniany.  We 
W<*ic  nunc  Ih.ni  ;Mi:-;ion:.  to  yo,  loi  no  e;ini|>  eonld  he 
worse  th.'in  I  he  |»re:,eiit  one  ;nid  we  knew  that  ^ood 
tre.'ilineiit  inei cr.ed  with  onr  di;;t;niee  from  the  front. 

(  )ne  <»l  I  he  piii.oner:.  who  w;i:.  |)eiiii;iiiently  sta- 
tioned ;il  L.'ion  w.'i;.  selliii)'.  lood  whieh  he  had  stolen. 
I  in.'in.ij'.ed  to  )'.el  .1  e.'in  <>|  ine.'il,  ;ind  .1  can  of  jam,  hnt 
;il  .111  e:-;oi  I  )il.'iiil.  price,  ;ind  in.'irk;;  were  scarce.  At 
I  he  e.i  III  cell  we  coll  Id  Imv  -in  i  11  fciioi"  j'r.'idc  of  toh.'icco, 
in  1.1(1.  Ili.il   w;i:;  .'ill  the  canteen  sold. 

Ihil  ;i  in.'in  could  h.'irdly  c.ill  .1  cij'.;ircttc  his  own. 
(  )ncc  il  w.i:;  lil,  some  less,  lorl.nn.'ilc  prisoner  always 
(iske<l  lor  "  l>nl  I  s.  on  yon.  1  nidd\',"  or  "short  end,  at  tcr 
y«>n."  il  he  were  ICnidis.h,  To  refuse  was  to  be  sellish, 
lh(>n)di  N'oin  own  hull:;  inc;iiil  "makin's"  later  on. 
Not  hill);  w.'is  vv;i;;l('d. 

In  |)iclcrcncc  lo  I  h(>  ccll.ir  or  prison  hnildin^,  wc 
rolled  lip  111  onr  lil.inkcls  lli.it  c\'(Miinj'.  on  a  ^rass 
plol  in  I  he  \;ird.  The  odor  from  the  open  l.itrine  in 
(he  center  of  the  \;ii(l  did  not  lii'lp  in.itters,  hnt  the 
air  was  fresluM- 

The  moinini'.  of  |nl\\^isl  found  ns  roll ini;  onr  packs 
at  d.iwn       As  wc  fell  111  ini  r()\'\\\\  c.ich  w.is  surmising 


Laon  69 

if  wc  woiilf]  !>(■  ijiovcH  Mi.'it,  day.  ()nc(!  Ihroiii^h  iJjc 
coffee  line,  t-Iic  order  w.'i.:;  ynvc.u  lJi,'i.l  Uio;,(;  who  arrivcfl 
in  prison  «il  the  time  we  did  would  leave,  together 
with  a  few  others.  About  nine  o'eloek  we  began 
forming.  As  Lockwood,  Ifeckert,  and  I  had  come  in 
with  tlie  French, we  decided  we  would  stay  with  them. 
iMnally  the  head  of  the  Vuni,  formed  by  French,  of 
whom  th(;re  were  over  six  hundred,  began  to  move 
thron;di  the.  g.'itc  A;;  we  tJircc  Americans  start,ed 
to  pass  the  guard  who  was  coimting  tlu;  prisoners,  we 
were  stoppcfl.  "A  merikancrs  ?"'  he  demanded.  "Ja  /" 
we  replicid.  And  with  loud  curses  we  were  ordered 
back  with  tlie  other  Americans,  ,'i,bonl,  ninety  in 
number.      W(;  followed   the  English. 

The  line  pass(;d  out  slowly.  Would  we  never  be 
out  ,'i,nd  on  our  w;iy  <! 

As  w(;  j)assed  over  the  bridge  of  the  moat,  we  were 
handed  n.  further  traveling  ration  of  hard-tack,  one 
sack  |)er  man,  and  that  for  three  days,  as  we  learned 
later. 

Outside  the  prisf)n,  in  the  scjuare,  we  were  halted, 
recount(*fl,  and  counted  ;i,gain.  By  t(m  o'clock  we 
were  ni.'U'chin}^  lo  the  :,t,,'il  ion,  followiii}^  Ihe  road  on 
the  northeiii  :,ide  of  the  eit,y,  which  dro|)pe(|  ofT  the 
l)lateau  to  the  pj.'iin. 

What,  small  portion  of  tlie  eit.y  we  saw  t,h;i,t,  morn 
ing    wa;^    fairly    bustling',    with    (icrman   r.oldiers   and 
orfieers. 

Twice  we  werc^  st,opj)efl  rmd   forced   to  wait,  prob 
.'ibly    while    the   :.tn|)id    ^'icrmnn    ;.er|'/'.'int,    in    ch.'irge 
t  lied  I  o  unt;iii|'je  hi:,  oiders. 


70         Behind  the  German  Lines 

A  few  civilians  attempted  to  engage  in  conversation 
with  us,  but  the  guard,  ever  alert,  always  interfered. 
Now  and  then  a  German  soldier  passed  and  spoke 
to  us  in  friendly  English  to  ask  where  we  were  going. 
Of  course  we  did  not  know. 

It  was  nearly  noon  when  we  reached  the  station 
and  turned  into  the  freight  yard.  Naturally  enough 
we  believed  we  would  entrain  immediately,  but  an 
hour  dragged  into  two,  and  two  into  the  whole  after- 
noon. The  sun  blazed  down  upon  us.  We  sought 
the  shade  of  the  cars,  only  to  be  sent  back  to  ranks. 
We  tried  to  get  water,  but  were  harshly  denied  the 
privilege  of  helping  ourselves  from  a  hydrant.  As 
the  hours  dragged  on,  one  guard  exhibited  pity  to- 
ward us  to  the  extent  of  letting  us  fill  our  canteens. 

It  became  noticeable  as  time  wore  on  that  a  Ger- 
man soldier  often  would  show  a  degree  of  kindness  to 
those  whom  he  was  guarding,  providing  an  officer  was 
not  around.  Once  the  officer  appeared  the  soldier 
would  display  all  the  animosity  possible. 

We  were  fortunate,  however,  on  that  trip,  for  our 
guards  were  all  old  men  of  the  Landsturm,  and  on  the 
whole  were  quite  decent  to  us. 

About  six  o'clock  our  train  pulled  into  the  freight 
yard,  a  train  made  up  of  freight  cars  and  old  third- 
class  coaches.  Immediately  the  guards  began  count- 
ing the  column  into  lots  of  forty  and  assigning  us  to 
the  cars.  Lockwood,  Heckert,  and  I  were  fortunate 
in  that  we  were  placed  in  a  coach  and  were  together. 
As  the  trip  lengthened,  our  quarters  became  cramped. 
Four  of  us  were  occupying  the  vestibule,  a  space 


Laon  71 

about  two  and  a  half  feet  wide  and  five  or  six  feet 
long. 

The  train  started. 

''Thank  God  that's  over  with,  and  may  the  next 
place  not  be  so  bad,"  someone  remarked,  as  we  pulled 
past  the  station,  crowded  with  German  soldiers  going 
on  leave. 

With  our  packs  for  seats,  we  arranged  ourselves 
as  comfortably  as  possible  for  the  journey,  the  desti- 
nation or  length  of  which  was  unknown.  Of  course  we 
were  going  into  the  interior  of  Germany,  but  where  ? 

The  train  was  headed  northeast  across  the  plains. 
The  city  of  Laon  set  on  the  plateau  stood  out  like  an 
ancient  acropolis  behind  us,  only  to  appear  lower  and 
lower  as  we  proceeded.  I  knew  that  we  would  either 
have  to  go  northeast  or  southeast  to  cross  the  German 
border,  and  by  continuing  in  the  direction  we  were 
going  we  would  have  to  pass  through  Belgium  before 
we  crossed  the  Rhine.  Once  across  the  Rhine — 
there  I  refused  to  reflect  further,  for  I  believed  wher- 
ever we  were  bound,  our  sojourn  would  not  be  long. 
The  Allies  would  win — on  that  I  pinned  my  faith. 

Long  trains  of  munitions,  gun  carriages,  trucks, 
and  military  equipment  stood  idle  on  the  sidings  as 
we  passed.  Empty  freight  cars  and  broken  material 
lay  at  every  small  station.  This  was  probably  some 
of  the  worn-out  rolling  stock  that  Germany  in  her 
shortage  of  men  was  forced  to  abandon.  Among  the 
German  coaches  and  cars  I  noticed  those  of  the 
French. 

After  passing  Mezieres  we  had  our  supper,  which 


72         Behind  the  German  Lines 

consisted  of  a  slice  of  black  bread  with  some  of  the 
jam  I  had  gotten  at  the  prison.  We  realized  then 
how  fortunate  we  were  to  have  our  own  small  extra 
supply  of  food.  That  one  slice  of  bread  was  little 
enough,  yet  it  relieved  the  sting  of  our  appetites, 
and  with  a  poor  cigarette  afterwards  we  settled  down 
for  the  night.  But  settling  down  for  the  night  meant 
merely  sitting  up  as  comfortably  as  the  cramped 
space  would  allow.  Sleep  was  practically  impossible. 
Like  all  foreign  freight  cars,  the  wheels  seemed  to  be 
square. 

Towards  morning  we  dozed  off,  only  to  awake  at 
daylight  stiff  and  tired. 

Whenever  the  train  stopped,  we  dropped  off  to 
stretch  our  legs  and  to  get  water.  The  guards  who 
occupied  the  last  two  coaches  got  off  with  us,  walked 
the  length  of  the  train  with  their  rifles  slung  over 
their  shoulders,  and  kept  a  close  eye  on  us,  keeping 
us  near  the  train  and  not  permitting  us  to  visit  with 
civilians. 

We  had  crossed  the  Belgian  border.  As  we  rolled 
through  Namur,  the  civilians  cheered  the  train,  wav- 
ing and  calling  words  of  encouragement  that  were 
only  drowned  by  the  rumble  of  the  train. 

Belgium,  Namur,  Liege,  these  names  brought  back 
memories  of  the  early  days  of  the  war  when  that  little 
nation  made  its  heroic  stand  of  eleven  days — just 
long  enough  to  save  France.  The  country  seemed 
too  peaceful  to  breed  a  warlike  nation,  yet  it  was  that 
same  love  of  home  which  made  them  fight  so  stub- 
bornly. 


Laon  73 

The  farms  rested  in  even  plots  along  the  tracks,  cut 
by  many  canals,  that  wound  through  the  hills. 

While  stopping  outside  the  city  of  Liege  for  a 
moment  that  evening,  an  old  peasant  woman  tried 
to  give  us  some  carrots,  in  fact  we  did  manage  to  get 
one  or  two  bunches  before  the  guards  could  stop  her. 
They  were  acceptable,  for  we  had  traveled  all  that 
day  with  no  rations  save  the  hard-tack  issued  at  Laon. 
The  journey  was  proving  exhausting  to  those  who  had 
no  food  of  their  own. 

Near  the  German  border,  the  guards  came  with 
huge  sacks,  ordering  us  to  throw  our  briquets  (cigar 
lighters)  and  matches  in  them,  saying  that  it  was  ver- 
hoten  to  carry  them  across  the  border.  Very  few 
were  given  up,  the  men  hiding  them  in  their  clothing, 
in  preference  to  losing  a  souvenir,  or  the  possibility 
of  having  no  light  for  cigarettes. 

That  night  passed  as  the  previous  one.  Our  bones 
were  beginning  to  ache  and  our  bodies  were  too  tired 
for  us  to  sleep.  Our  vestibule,  which  we  thought 
would  be  more  comfortable  than  a  freight  car,  was 
worse  than  a  closet. 

The  other  men — all  Americans — in  the  car  proper, 
were  stretched  out  in  all  postures  on  the  seats  and 
floor,  and  one  or  two  had  even  managed  to  climb  up 
on  the  baggage  rack  above  the  seats. 

At  midnight,  at  a  little  station  beyond  Liege,  the 
guards  aroused  us  and  announced  coffee.  Coffee 
only  in  name,  but  it  was  hot,  and  the  interruption  in 
the  journey,  the  falling  in  line,  tramping  over  the 
tracks  to  the  station  kitchen,  even  the  curses  of  the 


74         Behind  the  German  Lines 

guards  were  a  relief  from  the  monotonous  ride  and 
the  crowded  car. 

We  jerked  along  or  were  delayed  by  long  stops  on 
some  siding  and  the  next  morning  we  pulled  into 
Cologne.  We  were  now  in  Germany  proper.  As  we 
lay  in  the  railroad  yards,  German  men  and  boys — 
mostly  boys — who  were  working  there  as  trainmen, 
came  up  trying  to  buy  clothes,  blankets,  and  shoes. 
In  fact  almost  anything  such  as  soap,  chocolate,  or 
canned  meat  could  have  been  sold.  One  American 
did  trade  his  shoes  for  a  loaf  of  bread,  and  then  put 
on  an  old  pair  of  slippers  in  their  stead.  Tobacco 
and  bread  was  what  the  prisoners  wanted.  Such 
exchanges  as  were  made  were  always  to  the  advantage 
of  the  Germans.  Cigarettes  of  a  very  poor  quality 
sold  five  for  a  mark. 

This  desire  on  the  part  of  the  civilians  to  obtain 
second-hand  clothing,  soap,  and  other  articles  illus- 
trated in  what  straits  the  people  were  and  the  scarcity 
of  these  articles.  Second-hand  clothing,  from  the 
back  of  a  lousy  prisoner,  appeared  to  me  to  be  about 
the  last  thing  one  would  wish. 

Working  there  in  the  railroad  yards,  as  switchmen 
and  laborers,  were  a  great  number  of  young  German 
women  dressed  in  bloomers.  They  were  husky  and 
healthy  looking,  doing  the  work  that  a  few  years  be- 
fore was  performed  only  by  men.  Women  and  boys 
and  old  men  were  practically  running  the  railroads 
of  Germany  in  the  absence  of  the  former  employees 
at  the  front. 

That  portion  of  Cologne  which  we  saw  in  passing 


Laon  75 

on  the  train  was  typical  of  any  American  city.  From 
Cologne  south  we  followed  the  Rhine  through  a 
country  rich  in  verdure,  and  densely  populated. 

In  the  late  afternoon  we  passed  through  Coblenz. 
As  we  lay  in  the  station  a  German  troop  train  pulled 
alongside.  The  raillery  that  ensued  between  soldiers 
and  prisoners  was  a  real  entertainment.  The  pris- 
oners laughed  at  the  Germans'  boast  of  victory. 
Cigarettes  were  purchased  from  soldiers,  while  other 
soldiers  wanted  our  blankets.  On  this  occasion  there 
was  no  apparent  air  of  hostility  shown  on  either  side 
and  even  the  guards  joined  in  the  conversation. 

In  the  afternoon  we  stopped  at  a  little  station 
where  a  large  soup  kitchen  was  located  for  troop 
trains.  The  barley  soup  issued  was  quite  acceptable. 
Second  helpings  were  allowed  and  the  soup  plates 
were  even  provided.  This  was  the  first  hot  meal  we 
had  had  in  three  days.  The  men  fairly  gorged  them- 
selves, returning  to  the  train  happy  for  the  moment. 

This  lack  of  food  en  route,  whether  accidental  or 
intentional,  was  not  out  of  keeping  with  German 
treatment  of  prisoners.  We  had  heard  rumors  be- 
hind our  lines  of  mistreatment  of  prisoners,  but  so 
far  we  had  suffered  very  little  in  comparison  to  what 
we  were  to  hear  from  prisoners  taken  in  the  early  part 
of  the  war. 

The  third  night  of  our  journey  dragged  through, 
hour  by  hour.  What  little  sleep  we  were  getting 
before  dawn  was  interrupted  by  the  guards  who 
awoke  us.     The  train  had  stopped  in  a  large  station. 

' '  Komm,  lose  I  lose !  lose ! ' ' 


76         Behind  the  German  Lines 

We  swung  our  packs  and  tumbled  out  on  the  plat- 
form, where  we  formed  fours.  Then  followed  a  long 
tramp  through  the  city  streets,  now  deserted  at  the 
early  hour  of  four-thirty. 

We  were  in  Giessen,  in  Hesse,  and  were  going  out 
to  the  prison  camp  on  the  outskirts  of  the  city. 

As  we  filed  through  the  prison  gate,  we  were 
counted  and  let  into  an  enclosure  near  the  kitchen. 
Immediately  soup  was  served;  this  promptness  was 
quite  unusual. 

Broad  daylight  had  come  by  the  time  we  had  fin- 
ished. We  waited,  wondering  if  this  were  to  be  our 
permanent  camp. 

From  what  we  could  see  of  the  camp,  it  was  clean, 
and  if  the  soup  just  issued  were  a  fair  example  of  our 
food,  the  situation  was  at  least  better  than  at  Laon. 
But  as  the  morning  passed  and  we  were  not  assigned 
barracks,  we  realized  our  stay  was  merely  temporary. 

Then  food  was  issued  the  prisoners  in  the  form  of 
hard  bread  and  canned  goods.  This  came  from  com- 
mittees of  prisoners'  relief  of  the  various  nations, 
including  French,  English,  and  Italians,  but  not  the 
Americans.  This  was  a  disappointment  to  us,  but 
there  w^as  nothing  we  could  do.  One  or  two  of  us 
did  manage  to  buy  some  hard  bread  from  a  German 
who  worked  for  a  committee.  Of  course  it  was  graft 
on  his  part,  and  of  the  worst  kind. 

Postals,  with  blank  spaces  for  us  to  write  whether 
we  were  well  or  not,  were  distributed  and  mailed. 
This  was  the  first  chance  many  had  had  to  get  word 
back  that  they  were  alive. 


Laon  11 

A  canteen  furnished  a  few  odds  and  ends,  mostly 
tobacco.  I  saw  some  cubes  in  a  glass  jar  which  re- 
sembled caramels,  and  bought  a  dozen,  thinking  it 
was  candy.  If  I  had  only  thought  a  moment  I 
would  have  realized  that  sugar  was  at  a  premium. 
To  my  disgust,  they  were  bouillon  cubes.  In  a  burst 
of  enthusiasm,  I  purchased  a  German  grammar, 
written  in  French.  It  took  my  last  mark.  An  hour 
later  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  my  stomach  might 
need  more  food  than  my  brain,  and  sold  it  to  a 
Frenchman. 

At  twelve  the  guards  gave  us  orders.  As  we  passed 
out  of  the  gate,  a  large  loaf  of  black  bread  was  issued 
every  two  men.  The  loaves  were  twice  the  size  of 
the  regular  ones.  Later  I  learned  that  the  generosity 
was  merely  for  show,  as  representatives  from  Switzer- 
land were  there  to  inspect  the  camp  and  observe  the 
treatment  of  prisoners. 

The  march  from  the  camp  to  the  station  gave  me 
my  first  view  of  a  German  city.  The  buildings,  the 
streets,  and  even  the  people,  were  more  of  the  Amer- 
ican type  than  any  I  had  seen  on  the  continent. 
Their  attitude  towards  us  was  passive.  A  few  col- 
lected to  watch  us  tramp  past.  Now  and  then  a  child 
would  throw  some  harmless  insult  at  us  or  make  faces 
at  the  passing  column. 

"Our  big  strong  guard  will  protect  me  from  such 
women  as  you,"  laughed  an  artilleryman  behind  me 
as  a  little  girl  twisted  her  face  into  a  childish  expres- 
sion of  hate. 

By  twelve-thirty  we  were  on  our  train  again.     This 


78         Behind  the  German  Lines 

time  we  were  able  to  learn  that  we  were  going  to 
Langensalza,  in  Saxony,  where  we  would  be  per- 
manently. This  time  we  were  also  fortunate  in  get- 
ting seats  in  a  coach  which  was  not  overcrowded. 

From  Giessen  on,  we  were  passing  through  a  rolling 
country.  The  golden  wheat  fields  stretched  for 
miles  along  the  tracks,  and  the  villages  nestled  in 
hollows,  only  a  few  miles  apart.  I  wondered  at  the 
time  whether  we  would  be  put  to  work,  and  if  so, 
whether  I  would  be  fortunate  enough  to  be  assigned 
to  a  farm.     The  answer  came  within  the  next  month. 


CHAPTER   IV 

LANGENSALZA 

We  arrived  at  the  Kreigsgefangenenlager,  Langen- 
salza,  the  next  morning,  August  4th,  at  five  o'clock. 
We  were  led  through  the  gate,  over  the  corduroy 
road  that  ran  the  length  of  the  camp,  and  into  an 
enclosure.  Our  guide  had  made  a  mistake  and  we 
were  taken  to  another  enclosure,  lined  up  five  deep, 
and  counted. 

Coffee  and  bread  were  issued.  The  French  were 
assigned  two  barracks  and  the  Americans,  English, 
and  Italians  one,  but  later  the  Italians  were  moved 
to  the  French  barracks,  due  to  trouble  between  the 
Americans  and  the  English  and  the  Italians. 

The  second  day  we  were  registered,  filling  in  cards 
on  which  we  gave  our  names,  nationality,  army,  or- 
ganization, civilian  trade,  education,  and  a  few  other 
details.  Then  we  were  assigned  prison  numbers. 
The  next  day  we  were  issued  these  numbers,  printed 
on  two  little  square  pieces  of  muslin,  and  told  to  sew 
one  on  our  coats  and  the  other  on  our  overcoats. 

We  were  instructed  by  a  young  officer,  who  spoke 
English,  that  we  would  be  treated  well  so  long  as  we 
behaved ;  that  we  were  under  Prussian  military  law, 

79 


^^o  Behind  the  German  Lines 

and  would  be  tried  and  punished  according  to  that 
law.  His  accent  was  peculiar  but  his  attitude  rather 
friendly;  however,  that  did  not  lighten  our  burden, 
or  relieve  us  from  the  thought  that  we  were  to  be 
in  quarantine  for  two  weeks. 

In  the  afternoon,  we  were  sent  over  to  the  delouser. 
The  process  was  similar  to  that  in  most  American 
camps.  The  prisoners  objected  very  strongly  to 
having  their  heads  shaved,  but  to  no  avail.  We  went 
to  the  shears  like  sheep,  and  the  large  automatic 
clippers  in  a  short  time  made  us  look  like  real  con- 
victs. While  this  was  going  on  our  clothes  were 
going  through  a  steam  sterilizer.  After  the  bath  the 
clothes  began  to  arrive.  A  German  called  out  the 
numbers  and  we  claimed  our  own. 

Among  our  number  was  an  Indian  trooper,  with 
turban  and  long  hair  and  beard.  Much  to  my  sur- 
prise, the  Germans  permitted  him  to  retain  his  hair 
and  beard.  To  have  lost  them  he  would  have  lost 
his  caste  on  return  to  India.  The  German  attitude 
in  his  case  shows  they  possessed  at  least  a  bit  of 
consideration. 

Our  barracks,  or  the  room  of  the  barracks  we  were 
occupying,  was  able  to  accommodate  perhaps  three 
hundred  men.  The  bunks  were  arranged  in  three 
rows  which  ran  the  length  of  the  room,  and  were  not 
built  against  the  wall. 

The  lack  of  food  during  those  two  weeks  in  quar- 
antine, and  the  two  weeks  immediately  following, 
represented  my  starvation  period  in  Germany.  The 
day  began  with  roll  call  at  six,  after  which  coffee  ar- 


Langensalza  8i 

rived  in  huge  buckets  of  which  there  was  not  always 
enough  to  go  around.  Then  a  detail  arrived  with  the 
black  bread,  which  was  issued  one  loaf  for  seven  men. 
Another  roll  call  came  at  one,  and  another  at  four- 
thirty.     Beet  soup  was  served  at  noon  and  night. 

A  notice  in  English  was  posted  informing  us  of  cer- 
tain restrictions.  We  were  not  to  smoke  in  the  bar- 
racks, or  to  lie  on  the  bunks  ("beds"  as  the  notice 
read)  in  the  daytime,  and  numerous  other  small 
things  were  prohibited. 

During  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day,  the  Eng- 
lish prisoners  who  had  been  in  camp  for  many  months 
sent  to  us  three  or  four  blankets  filled  with  food  which 
they  generously  contributed.  The  old  prisoners — 
French  and  English — were  receiving  regularly  par- 
cels from  home  and  from  their  relief  committees. 
Moreover,  there  was  a  committee  of  prisoners  repre- 
senting their  respective  organizations  in  camp. 

The  English  received  their  parcels  every  week  from 
England  and  were  also  issued  hard  bread  by  their 
committee  in  camp.  The  French  received  most  of 
their  food  from  their  committee  in  camp. 

The  three  or  four  blankets  of  food  sent  over  by  the 
English  were  distributed  among  the  English  and 
Americans.  When  distributed  it  did  not  amount  to 
very  much  per  man,  but  we  were  careful  and  made  it 
last  for  three  days.  Nothing  ever  tasted  quite  so 
delicious  as  those  crackers  with  a  bit  of  canned  beef. 

One  morning  soon  after  our  arrival  our  German 
officer  informed  us  we  would  be  inoculated  against 
cholera  and  typhus.  A  German  and  an  English  doctor 


82         Behind  the  German  Lines 

made  the  injections.  We  had  no  choice  in  the  mat- 
ter— we  had  to  take  them.  But  for  all  we  knew,  they 
might  have  been  injecting  disease  germs  into  our 
systems.  It  had  been  reported  that  such  was  done 
in  some  camps.  As  time  went  on,  however,  we  found 
it  was  not  so  in  our  case.  It  seemed  to  me  that  the 
German  doctor  took  delight  in  sticking  that  needle 
into  us.  He  worked  quickly  and  deftly,  with  an  evil 
twinkle  in  his  eyes.  On  the  other  hand  the  English 
doctor,  a  young  fellow,  worked  with  less  skill,  but 
with  gentleness. 

Many  of  the  prisoners  were  selling  anything  they 
had  to  other  prisoners  outside  of  our  enclosure,  and 
with  the  money  buying  cigarettes  or  trading  their 
articles  directly  for  food.  I  went  through  my  pack  in 
the  hope  of  finding  something  with  which  I  could 
part  and  which  would  bring  either  food,  tobacco,  or 
money.  My  Gillette  razor  and  fountain  pen  seemed 
the  only  articles  worth  while.  After  a  great  deal  of 
arguing  and  haranguing  through  the  barbed  wire 
fence  that  shut  us  off  from  the  other  prisoners,  I  was 
able  to  sell  both  for  the  sum  of  thirty-six  marks.  As 
I  was  to  use  Lockwood's  razor  from  then  on — a 
medical  razor  he  had  helped  himself  to  at  the  hospital 
— I  shared  the  money  with  him.  The  money  was  soon 
spent  for  tobacco  and  biscuits. 

We  were  permitted  to  write  two  letters  and  four 
postal  cards  a  month.  The  paper  was  of  a  prescribed 
form  and  orders  were  that  we  were  not  to  mention  the 
war.  We  took  it  for  granted  that  anything  said  in 
criticism  of  the  Germans  would  be  censored.     Very 


Langensalza  83 

little  else  was  left  for  us  to  write  except  to  ask  for 
food  and  clothing.  As  before,  I  wrote  first  to  Major 
W.  H.  Brophy,  in  Paris,  then  to  my  company  com- 
mander, and  later,  home.  Those  letters  were  always 
very  unsatisfactory  to  me,  being  limited  in  length  and 
contents. 

About  this  time  we  were  ordered  to  turn  over  all 
written  matter  for  censorship.  I  had  destroyed  every- 
thing of  value,  so  that  my  pocketbook  contained  only 
a  few  photographs,  and  a  small  card  on  which  I  kept 
an  abbreviated  diary  of  my  movements.  To  my 
surprise,  everything  was  returned  with  the  censor's 
seal  stamped  on  the  back. 

Books  were  sent  us  from  the  camp  library  to  read, 
but  these  were  not  sufficient  to  go  around.  They 
included  Shakespeare,  Pilgrim's  Progress,  the  Bible, 
and  some  old  English  novels.  The  books  were  a 
great  help  to  the  men  in  passing  the  long  weary  hours, 
although  in  many  cases  they  would  have  preferred 
lighter  reading. 

Another  order  demanded  that  we  change  all  money, 
French,  English,  or  German,  into  war  prisoners' 
money,  Kriegsgefangenengeld.  The  exchange  was 
somewhat  lower  than  it  should  have  been.  For 
French  money  we  received  three  and  a  half  marks  for 
five  francs.  The  prisoners'  money  was  issued  as  a 
hindrance  to  escape,  and  although  civilians  were 
forced  to  accept  it,  it  always  being  redeemable  for 
state  money,  they  preferred  the  other.  At  the  can- 
teen in  camp  this  was  the  only  money  accepted. 

Our  quarters  became   almost   intolerable  as  the 


84         Behind  the  German  Lines 

confinement  continued.  The  yard  between  the 
barracks  was  barely  large  enough  to  hold  the  prison- 
ers at  roll  call.  In  rainy  weather  this  yard  became  a 
mass  of  sticky  mud,  although  it  dried  quickly  in 
clear  weather,  becoming  as  hard  as  a  pavement. 

The  three  roll  calls  a  day  were  a  source  of  irritation 
and  some  amusement.  The  German  sergeant,  typi- 
cal of  his  race,  with  his  piggish  eyes  set  in  a  red, 
bloated  face,  and  his  round  head  resting  on  a  bull  neck, 
attended  every  roll  call  with  the  dignity  of  a  poten- 
tate. His  broadsword  clanked  at  his  side,  almost 
trailing  on  the  ground.  He  inspected  us  frequently 
to  see  that  our  shoes  were  clean  and  our  clothing  in 
order.  That  was  a  joke,  for  how  were  we  to  keep  our 
apparel  in  order  with  no  equipment  ? 

On  several  occasions  he  lost  his  temper,  flying  into 
a  rage  and  bellowing  orders  which  we  could  not 
understand.  Twice  he  drew  his  clumsy  sword,  strik- 
ing his  victim  with  the  flat  side  across  his  back.  One 
morning  he  asked  for  volunteers  for  carpenter  work 
and  shoe  repairing.  Several  French  stepped  forward, 
but  none  of  the  English  or  Americans. 

We  counted  the  days  one  by  one  as  they  dragged 
by.  During  the  second  week  the  French  committee 
began  issuing  hard  bread  to  the  French,  and  also  to 
the  Americans,  as  we  had  no  committee  of  our  own. 
This  was  indeed  a  godsend.  The  biscuits  were  sent 
in  huge  cases,  and  divided  so  that  we  had  about  forty 
apiece  which  lasted  us  a  week.  The  biscuits  re- 
sembled buns  and  were  three  or  four  inches  in 
diameter,  and  very  hard.     By  boring  small  holes  in 


I 


Langensalza  85 

them,  soaking  them  in  water  for  a  moment  and  then 
placing  them  in  the  sun  for  an  hour,  the  result  was 
that  they  swelled  to  almost  double  their  size  and 
tasted,  at  least  to  us,  very  delicious.  It  was  by  great 
restraint  that  we  did  not  eat  them  the  first  day  or  two. 
Very  few  men  made  their  ration  last  the  whole  week. 

The  process  of  delousing  had  been  successful  as 
far  as  that  animal  went,  but  the  fleas  could  not  be  got 
rid  of  no  matter  what  we  did.  They  kept  us  awake 
at  nights,  biting  persistently,  to  our  great  discom- 
fiture. To  scratch  was  to  risk  infection,  so  I  just 
gave  up  and  let  them  have  their  way. 

The  sanitation  around  our  barracks  was  excellent. 
The  Germans  enforced  certain  rules  with  heavy  pen- 
alties if  disobeyed,  and  this  was  for  our  common 
good. 

Nothing  of  particular  interest  happened  during  the 
two  weeks  of  quarantine.  Walking  around  our 
enclosure  furnished  our  only  exercise.  Through  the 
wire  fence  we  could  look  out  over  the  parade  ground 
and  watch  soccer  games,  but  these  only  took  place  in 
the  evenings  or  on  Sunday  afternoons.  The  rest  of 
the  day  we  lay  around  visiting  and  swapping  stories. 
Generally  the  conversation  turned  to  food,  delicious 
tempting  food  we  had  eaten  back  in  the  States — food 
that  made  our  mouths  water  to  think  of,  and  to  curse 
our  luck  for  not  being  able  to  have  it  then.  The  war 
and  the  Germans  came  in  for  their  share  of  our  talk. 
Could  our  thoughts  have  been  realized,  the  Empire 
and  the  Kaiser  and  his  subjects  would  have  gone  to 
the  lowest  depths  of  hell  to  suffer  untold  tortures. 


86         Behind  the  German  Lines 

On  August  20th  the  quarantine  was  lifted  and  we 
were  permitted  to  wander  at  large  in  the  camp,  which 
contained  about  fifteen  thousand  men  of  all  the  Allied 
nationalities.  Nearly  half  of  these,  however,  were 
working  in  neighboring  villages  and  cities,  on  farms, 
in  mines,  or  in  factories. 

Double  twelve-foot  barbed  wire  fences  enclosed 
the  whole  camp.  At  the  gates  armed  guards  were 
always  on  duty,  and  other  guards  were  stationed 
at  various  points  around  the  camp. 

The  barracks  were  immense.  Each  barrack  was 
divided  into  three  rooms,  not  connecting.  Each 
room  would  comfortably  house  about  two  hundred 
men,  that  is,  from  six  to  seven  hundred  in  each  bar- 
rack. The  barracks  were  situated  around  the  large 
yard,  which  included  the  football  field.  In  one  cor- 
ner of  this  field  was  a  small  barrack  in  which  was 
located  the  postoffice,  censor  office,  and  one  end  was 
used  as  a  storehouse  for  the  English  committee's 
food,  although  most  of  the  food  was  kept  at  the 
committee  tents,  the  French  occupying  two  and  the 
English  one. 

The  fences  of  barbed  wire  were  so  arranged  be- 
tween barracks  and  fields  that  any  portion  of  the 
camp  could  be  shut  off  from  the  rest.  That,  of  course, 
was  in  case  of  an  uprising  among  the  prisoners  or  in 
case  of  sickness  and  quarantine. 

The  hospital,  set  off  from  the  rest  of  the  camp,  was 
forbidden  territory  without  a  pass.  After  we  left 
quarantine,  several  of  the  English  medical  men  who 
were  with  us  when  we  arrived  at  Langensalza  were 


Langensalza  S7 

assigned  work  in  the  hospital.  On  the  one  occasion 
when  I  went  there  to  see  an  American,  I  was  not 
impressed  with  the  cleanHness  of  the  wards  or  the 
efficiency  of  the  attendants.  The  patients  were  on 
cots.  The  nationaHties  were  not  segregated.  From 
what  I  could  learn  there  were  not  sufficient  medicines 
and  supplies  to  meet  the  demand. 

The  second  day  after  our  quarantine  was  lifted, 
all  of  the  American  prisoners  were  sent  to  Rastatt, 
where  the  American  camp  was  situated,  except  twelve 
of  us  of  the  Medical  Corps,  and  in  our  ignorance  we 
believed  we  were  better  off  remaining  in  Langensalza. 
We  learned  later  that  the  American  camp  was  by 
far  the  better  of  the  two. 

At  the  time  of  registration  we  had  to  establish  our 
identity,  either  by  papers  or  by  our  army  dog  tag, 
which  gave  our  name,  number,  and  rank.  My  own 
identification,  a  road  pass  issued  me  by  the  French 
army,  was  taken  and  not  returned  until  a  month 
before  I  left  Germany.  Many  of  the  men  had  no 
identification,  and  the  non-commissioned  officers 
were  worried  for  fear  they  would  be  classified  as 
privates  and  put  to  work.  As  it  later  developed 
rank  made  practically  no  difference  at  Rastatt. 

As  the  Americans  marched  out  of  camp  I  felt  in- 
deed like  a  stranger  in  a  strange  land.  They  had 
been  the  rank  and  file  of  the  new  American  army; 
they  had  seen  action  as  fierce  as  any  of  the  poilus,  and 
they  had  suffered  slavery  behind  the  German  lines, 
only  to  leave  unbroken  in  spirit,  and  their  courage 
unimpaired  by  imprisonment. 


88         Behind  the  German  Lines 

That  same  morning,  August  22d,  we  who  remained 
moved  with  the  French  and  English  to  other  bar- 
racks, we  being  quartered  with  the  EngUsh.  Our 
numbers  were  changed  and  mine  became  6.9740. 

We  settled  down  to  the  dull  existence  of  prison 
life;  living  on  German  soup,  barley  coffee,  and  French 
biscuits;  sleeping — when  the  fleas  permitted — on 
bare  boards,  with  only  two  blankets;  answering  roll 
calls  at  unreasonable  hours,  and  doing  such  work  as 
we  could  not  avoid. 

The  working  details  were  picked  at  the  roll  call 
immediately  after  breakfast,  that  is,  about  seven 
o'clock.  The  first  job  I  got  was  loading  manure 
from  the  pile  near  the  pig  pen,  into  a  wagon  which 
was  taken  out  on  the  prison  garden.  In  the  after- 
noon we  went  out  and  spread  it  with  a  fork. 

On  another  occasion,  a  detail  of  which  I  was  a 
member  spaded  a  beet  field.  That  morning  we 
worked  hard  as  the  guard  who  stood  over  us,  allowed 
only  a  minute  or  two  of  rest  at  long  intervals.  Usu- 
ally on  detail  we  took  our  time,  as  the  guard  was 
indifferent  as  to  how  we  worked. 

One  morning  the  detail  list  would  be  taken  from 
one  end  of  the  roll  call  line,  and  on  the  next  morning 
from  the  other.  If  we  were  fortunate  enough  not  to 
be  assigned,  then  we  made  ourselves  scarce  for  the 
rest  of  the  day,  anticipating  that  an  extra  party  might 
be  called  out.  The  guard  had  a  habit  of  dropping 
into  the  barracks  during  the  day  and  picking  out 
anyone  he  saw.  We  soon  learned  where  to  go  to 
avoid  this  by  either  going  out  on  the  parade  ground 


Langensalza  89 

or  to  another  barrack  where  the  English  non-com- 
missioned officers,  who  were  exempted  from  work, 
were  quartered. 

All  manner  of  rumors  drifted  through  camp  con- 
cerning the  war  and  ourselves.  When  we  heard  the 
rumor  that  we  would  be  sent  out  on  farms  or  to  fac- 
tories, we  decided  it  could  be  no  worse  than  living  in 
confinement  and  dodging  details  in  camp. 

The  rumor  was  finally  verified  when  a  call  came  for 
volunteers.  The  older  prisoners  advised  us  to  accept. 
As  for  myself,  and  as  did  the  other  Americans,  I 
decided  it  would  be  better  to  be  sent.  I  did  not  wish 
to  volunteer  to  work  for  any  Hun.  If  they  wanted 
me  they  would  take  me,  and  there  would  be  no 
argument. 


CHAPTER  V 

ESCHENBERGEN 

On  August  30th  a  party  of  us  received  our  final 
orders.  From  all  I  could  learn  I  was  to  be  sent  to  a 
farm,  while  the  other  Americans  together  with  some 
Englishmen  were  going  to  factories.  Whatever  the 
work  might  be  and  wherever  we  went  we  could  always 
be  returned  to  camp,  if  the  circumstances  warranted  it. 

Those  of  us  who  were  in  the  Medical  Corps  had 
all  objected  to  working,  for  according  to  international 
law  we  were  not  supposed  to  do  any  work  save  in  a 
hospital,  but  the  Germans  laughed  at  our  remon- 
strances. 

Our  guards  took  us  to  the  station  of  Langensalza, 
a  two-mile  walk  from  the  camp  on  the  other  side  of 
the  town.  What  little  I  saw  of  the  town  did  not 
impress  me  as  very  unusual,  although  the  houses  were 
of  typical  German  architecture.  My  guard — I  felt 
like  a  hardened  criminal  having  an  armed  guard  all  to 
myself — had  little  to  say  to  me,  and  I  doubt  if  I  could 
have  understood  his  jabber  had  he  tried  to  carry  on  a 
conversation. 

As  we  stood  that  morning  on  the  station  platform, 
the  small  group  of  prisoners  chatted  merrily,  wishing 

90 


Eschenbergen  91 

each  other  good  luck  in  the  lot  that  might  befall 
them.  The  partial  sense  of  freedom,  the  bright 
morning,  with  a  breath  of  autumn,  and  the  unknown 
that  lay  ahead,  cheered  us  considerably. 

I  climbed  on  a  third-class  coach  behind  my  guard, 
as  the  fellow  overlooked  politeness  and  his  duty  in 
mounting  the  coach  ahead  of  me.  It  was  with  a 
feeling  of  curiosity,  and  I  must  admit  it  was  with  a 
holiday  spirit,  if  not  adventure,  that  I  watched  the 
farm  land  roll  past  the  window.  I  then  suddenly 
realized  that  it  was  harvest  season,  and  I  was  prob- 
ably to  be  given  that  work.  This  was  all  right,  if 
they  would  only  feed  me  sufficiently.  I  knew  noth- 
ing about  farming,  and  what  little  I  would  learn 
would  do  me  no  harm.  At  least  it  would  be  a  healthy 
existence  in  the  open  air. 

An  hour's  ride  brought  us  to  the  little  station  of 
Baldtstadt,  where  my  guard  swung  his  pack  and  with 
a  short  ''komm''  to  me  we  got  off  and  started  down  the 
road,  my  guard  in  the  lead  as  before.  The  country 
road  was  wide  and  well  graded,  a  state  highway  I 
judged.  Soon  we  left  this,  taking  a  small  crossroad. 
Now  and  then  we  passed  laborers  working  in  the 
fields,  most  of  whom  were  women. 

My  immediate  attention  was  attracted  by  the 
apple  and  plum  trees  that  lined  the  road,  as  shade 
trees  do  in  America.  The  three-mile  walk  that 
followed  did  not  seem  long,  as  I  was  occupied  clan- 
destinely in  helping  myself  to  plums.  Fruit  never 
tasted  so  good  to  me  as  it  did  that  afternoon.  It  was 
the  first  fruit  I  had  eaten  in  months. 


92         Behind  the  German  Lines 

Through  one  village  we  passed  and  on  to  the  next. 
In  the  second  village,  my  guard  led  me  to  a  large 
frame  building  with  Gasthof  painted  across  its  front. 
We  went  upstairs.  There  in  a  large  room  were  rows 
of  beds  on  the  three  sides.  I  managed  to  understand 
this  was  where  I  was  to  sleep.  Leaving  my  pack 
there,  he  took  me  over  to  a  farmhouse  and  introduced 
me  to  my  chef  or  boss. 

Herr  Karl  Fleischbauer  stuck  out  his  hand  in  a 
friendly  manner.  Not  wishing  to  incur  enmity  on 
first  acquaintance  I  returned  the  greeting.  I  looked 
an  elderly  man  in  the  face,  a  face  pinched  from  open- 
air  work  and  a  narrow  life.  He  was  not  of  the  usual 
German  bulk  and  build,  being  rather  slight  and  bent. 
He  must  have  guessed  my  thoughts,  as  it  was  nearly 
two  o'clock  and  I  was  hungry.  On  the  kitchen  table 
stood  a  pot  of  barley  coffee  and  a  pile  of  what  I 
learned  later  were  called  tarts.  He  motioned  me  to 
sit  down  and  essen. 

There  was  no  hesitancy  on  my  part.  I  fell  to 
work  and  made  a  meal  of  what  was  considered  to  be 
only  tea.  Three  cups  of  coffee,  with  milk  but  no 
sugar,  and  as  many  tarts,  revived  my  spirits.  By  the 
time  I  finished,  my  guard  had  finished  talking  with 
my  boss,  and  had  left.  As  I  rose  from  the  table  Karl 
motioned  to  me  to  follow. 

We  went  out  the  back  door  and  I  got  my  first  view 
of  a  German  farmyard.  Immediately  at  my  feet 
lay  the  manure  pile,  not  four  feet  distant  from  the 
back  steps.  On  the  right  of  the  yard  ran  the  build- 
ing that  housed  the  goats,  pigs,  rabbits,  chickens,  and 


Eschenbergen  93 

geese,  while  the  loft  was  used  for  hay.  At  the  rear 
was  the  large  barn  for  storing  grain,  for  housing  the 
large  wagon,  and  for  threshing  by  hand  in  winter. 
On  the  left  ran  the  building  that  housed  the  five 
cows  and  four  calves,  while  the  loft  contained  hay. 
Next  to  this  was  a  small  shed  for  feed  and  potatoes, 
which  was  joined  to  the  house  by  a  roof  over  the 
wood  pile.  On  my  left  and  in  the  house  proper  was 
the  horse  stall  with  the  door  opening  out  on  the 
manure  pile.  That  explained  the  proximity  of  the 
manure  pile  to  the  house. 

That  was  a  typical  German  farmhouse,  barns,  and 
yard.  The  whole  was  so  arranged  that  the  house  and 
barns  joined,  forming  a  hollow  square,  the  center 
being  the  farmyard.  The  entrance  to  the  yard  was 
through  a  huge  double  door  in  the  front  of  the  house, 
the  roof  extending  over  it  the  width  of  the  house,  so 
that  from  the  outside  it  appeared  that  the  door 
opened  up  into  the  house,  while  as  a  matter  of  fact 
it  opened  into  the  courtyard. 

Of  the  interior  of  the  house  I  saw  practically  noth- 
ing except  the  kitchen  where  all  the  cooking  was  done 
and  which  served  as  a  dining  room.  The  room 
opened  off  of  the  hall  on  the  left  of  the  front,  so  that  its 
one  small  window  looked  out  on  the  road  and  allowed 
the  old  lady  to  keep  in  touch  with  most  of  her  neigh- 
bors' comings  and  goings.  As  the  road  which 
passed  by  the  house  was  the  main  street  of  the  village 
and  led  to  the  other  villages  and  on  to  Gotha,  this 
little  window  served  as  an  observation  point  for  all 
the  village  movements.     The  interior  of  the  kitchen 


94         Behind  the  German  Lines 

was  plain,  containing  only  the  oven,  or  brick  stove 
built  into  the  end  of  the  room,  the  table  and  chairs, 
and  a  cupboard.  The  stove  was  a  curiosity  to  me. 
At  first  it  looked  crude  and  inconvenient,  but  later 
as  I  watched  the  old  lady  do  her  simple  cooking  I 
realized  some  of  its  advantages.  Built  into  the  wall 
and  occupying  the  breadth  of  the  room,  it  stood  three 
feet  high  on  its  right  and  front  half.  In  the  front 
was  the  stove  proper  with  its  two  movable  lids  where 
pots  might  be  placed.  The  left  half,  two  feet  higher, 
enclosed  the  oven,  while  immediately  below  were  two 
fire  boxes,  each  for  its  individual  use,  and  had  its 
doors  opening  out  into  the  room,  which  when  opened 
served  to  heat  the  room. 

As  I  followed  Herr  Karl  out  into  the  yard,  and  then 
into  the  road,  I  found  his  family  of  five  seated  in  a 
small  farm  wagon.  As  we  climbed  in  he  mumbled 
something  to  me  and  to  them  and  they  nodded. 

His  wife  was  an  ugly  looking  old  woman,  her  teeth 
missing,  her  hair  frowsy  almost  to  the  point  of  being 
matted,  and  when  she  raised  her  voice  in  anger  she 
seemed  to  possess  all  the  characteristics  of  an  old 
witch.  With  her  were  three  young  women  whom  I 
took  to  be  her  daughters,  and  a  small  boy  of  about 
eight,  her  grandson. 

In  a  moment  we  were  jogging  over  the  road  and  out 
into  the  country.  A  two-mile  ride  brought  us  to  a 
wheat  field.  So  that  was  to  be  the  job,  just  as  I  had 
surmised — harvesting.  But  the  way  harvesting  as 
done  in  America  is  very  different  from  the  manner  in 
which  it  is  done  by  the  German  peasants. 


Eschenbergen  95 

The  old  man  hitched  the  horses  to  a  mowing  ma- 
chine and  began  cutting  down  broad  swaths  of  wheat. 
The  woman  raked  it  up,  the  small  boy  placed  straw 
binders  on  which  the  armfuls  were  laid,  and  two  of  us 
followed  behind  binding  them  into  sheaves. 

The  work  was  hard  for  me  at  first,  the  straw 
binders  clumsy,  or  I  was,  and  the  nettles  among  the 
wheat  were  harsh  on  the  hands.  The  amount  of 
work  I  did  that  afternoon  amounted  to  practically 
nothing,  and  I  could  not  keep  pace  with  the  daughter 
that  worked  with  me.  In  fact,  she  had  to  come  back 
and  do  part  of  my  share  as  well  as  her  ow^n.  The  old 
man  explained  the  manner  of  tying  sheaves,  the  old 
lady  added  her  knowledge,  and  the  three  daughters 
gave  valuable  advice,  but  I  proved  awkward  to  say 
the  least. 

At  four  we  stopped  for  a  rest,  and  a  bite  of  black 
bread,  with  beef  grease  and  salt  on  it.  It  tasted  good 
nevertheless.  The  work  continued  till  six.  We  had 
tied  and  stacked  all  the  sheaves  of  grain  the  old  man 
had  cut. 

Riding  back  to  the  house  that  evening  I  was  not  so 
enthusiastic  nor  sure  that  I  wanted  to  work  on  a  farm. 
At  least  I  decided  to  give  it  a  few  days'  trial.  I  would 
wait  and  see  what  the  work  was  like  and  how  I  was 
to  be  fed. 

At  the  house  a  broom  was  placed  in  my  hands 
and  the  horse  stable  pointed  to.  This  looked  like  a 
doubtful  job.  Before  I  could  begin,  the  old  man 
snatched  the  broom  from  me  and  gave  me  a  demon- 
stration.    Thereafter  that  became  my  evening  duty. 


9^         Behind  the  German  Lines 

I  did  not  mind  it  as  long  as  the  horses'  heels  were 
quiet,  and  their  heels  were  quiet  as  long  as  they  were 
eating,  so  I  insisted  that  they  should  be  fed  before  I 
began  to  work.  While  I  was  at  this  work  the  others 
were  busy  about  the  yard,  and  by  a  quarter  of  seven 
supper  was  ready. 

Supper  was  not  to  be  scorned  by  a  hungry  prisoner 
just  out  from  camp.  Boiled  potatoes  and  gravy  con- 
taining pork  followed  the  soup.  That  was  all,  but 
it  was  in  sufficient  quantity  to  make  a  generous  meal. 

After  supper,  one  of  the  daughters  and  I  moved 
a  wooden  bed  over  to  the  Gasthof,  where  the  prison- 
ers' sleeping  quarters  were.  The  setting  up  of  the 
bed  was  an  easy  matter.  Then  straw  was  spread 
over  the  slats,  a  hard  mattress  followed,  and  then  a 
soft  one  made  from  down.  In  place  of  blankets,  a 
large  but  very  light  mattress  of  down,  similar  to  the 
lower  one,  served  as  covering.  By  the  time  we  had 
finished,  and  the  girl  had  left,  the  prisoners  began  to 
return  for  the  evening. 

During  the  next  half  hour,  as  the  prisoners  filed 
in,  one  or  two  at  a  time,  I  became  the  center  of  at- 
traction. In  all  there  were  eighteen ;  twelve  Russians, 
three  Frenchmen,  two  Italians,  and  a  Belgian.  Most 
of  them  had  never  seen  an  American  before,  so  that 
with  what  little  French  I  knew,  I  was  kept  busy 
answering  questions  as  best  I  could.  I  was  treated 
to  beer  and  cigarettes,  scarce  as  they  were,  and  so  I 
found  myself  a  member  of  a  rather  mixed  company, 
where  my  native  tongue  was  useless. 

The  Gasthof  was  a  beer  house,  and  our  sleeping 


Eschenbergen  97 

quarters,  before  the  war,  had  been  a  dining  room  or 
meeting  hall.  At  one  end  was  a  small  platform,  while 
on  two  sides  ran  a  gallery.  On  the  walls  hung  Ger- 
man mottos,  w^hich  I  never  managed  to  translate, 
though  from  one  or  two  of  the  words  I  judged  they 
advised  people  to  "eat,  drink,  and  be  merry." 
Suitable  advice  for  such  a  room.  Several  crude  oil 
paintings,  added  to  the  faded  grotesque  paper — an 
imitation  of  marble — gave  the  room  an  ancient  tone, 
while  the  wooden  beds  arranged  along  the  walls,  and 
the  clothes  hanging  above  them,  gave  the  place  an 
appearance  of  a  school  dormitory. 

The  short,  rotund  proprietor  of  the  place  served  us 
beer,  or  manufactured  soda  water,  at  tw^enty  pfen- 
nings the  glass.  Having  no  bell  to  call  him  by,  we 
merely  stamped  on  the  floor  until  we  heard  him 
puffing  up  the  stairs. 

At  nine,  the  guard,  who  slept  in  an  adjoining  room, 
carefully  locked  the  doors  and  turned  out  the  lights. 
For  this  I  was  thankful,  for  I  had  answered  so  many 
questions  that  I  had  almost  exhausted  my  vocabu- 
lary on  the  first  night. 

It  was  a  joy  to  get  into  a  real  bed  again  and  to  have 
all  my  clothes  off.  In  camp  we  curled  up  in  blankets 
after  removing  our  shoes  and  stockings,  and,  as  one 
man  put  it,  only  the  snobs  removed  more.  As  I 
figured,  even  my  dirty  clothes  were  cleaner  than  the 
blankets  that  had  been  used  in  Langensalza  Kriegs- 
gefangenenlager  for  nearly  four  years  by  the  prisoners 
of  every  Allied  nation.  As  I  sank  low  in  the  down 
mattress  my  worries  ceased  and  I  drifted  off  to  sleep. 


9^  Behind  the  German  Lines 

The  shuffling  of  the  men  getting  into  their  clothes 
awoke  me.  It  was  just  getting  light.  I  got  up, 
dressed,  and  went  over  to  the  farm.  Following  the 
guard's  example,  I  walked  in.  The  family  were  at 
the  table  having  coffee,  that  is,  coffee  and  bread  or 
tarts. 

My  work  immediately  after  breakfast  was  to  cut 
the  hay  for  the  day.  This  was  done  by  feeding  a 
mixture  of  one  third  alfalfa  and  two  thirds  straw  into 
a  cutting  machine,  and  at  the  same  time  furnishing 
the  motor  power  by  turning  a  large  handle.  The 
hay  came  out  cut  in  two-inch  lengths.  This  fodder 
was  for  the  horses  and  the  goats. 

The  day  thus  begun,  my  duties  included  practi- 
cally every  kind  of  work,  at  least  every  kind  of  un- 
skilled work.  When  asked  if  I  knew  how  to  plow 
I  replied  in  the  negative  and  Karl  never  attempted  to 
teach  me.  He  probably  judged  that  I  was  too  stupid 
to  learn. 

The  mid-morning  meal  usually  consisted  of  a  slice 
of  bread  spread  with  beef  grease  or  cheese,  rarely 
butter. 

If  we  went  into  the  fields  to  work  in  the  morning, 
we  always  returned  at  noon  for  the  noonday  meal, 
which  was  ordinarily  soup  and  bread.  The  meal  once 
finished,  there  was  no  time  afterwards  for  leisure. 
Work  was  the  order  of  the  day,  and  eating  was  con- 
sidered a  necessary  hindrance. 

The  harvesting  took  nearly  a  week.  Wheat,  oats, 
and  barley  were  cut  and  tied  and  the  sheaves  stacked. 
The  only  machinery  used  was  the  mower,  the  rest 


Eschenbergen  99 

was  hand  labor,  done  principally  by  the  women. 
The  eight-year-old  grandson  did  his  share  also,  al- 
though only  light  work.  Once  the  field  had  been  har- 
vested, it  was  again  gone  over  with  a  huge  rake  and 
the  stray  grain  collected.  This  did  not  make  more 
than  two  sheaves  and  required  much  tiresome  labor. 

The  German  peasant  is  thorough  in  his  work,  sav- 
ing at  every  turn,  regardless  of  the  labor  spent.  But 
the  old  man  was  wont  to  leave  most  of  the  heavy  work 
and  the  drudgery  to  the  women,  and  the  women, 
accepting  the  situation,  worked  like  slaves,  patiently 
and  unceasingly,  with  never  a  word  of  complaint. 

After  the  harvest  was  over,  which  took  nearly  a 
week  of  long  tedious  hours  and  left  me  worn  out 
each  night,  I  was  given  small  jobs  around  the  house 
or  garden. 

The  most  pleasant,  and  for  me  the  most  satisfac- 
tory work,  was  picking  apples  and  pears.  Every  ripe 
pear  or  apple  I  ate,  so  that  a  good  portion  of  my  time 
I  spent  at  the  end  of  a  tall  ladder,  gazing  at  the  rolling 
country  and  munching  fruit.  If  my  work  took  me 
into  the  garden,  apples  were  always  near  by. 

The  old  man  raised  his  own  tobacco  in  a  small 
patch  in  the  garden.  One  morning,  while  taking 
some  grain  up  to  the  attic  of  the  house  I  spied 
bunches  of  leaves  drying.  I  helped  myself  to  a  bunch. 
In  comparison  to  the  tobacco  we  could  buy,  that 
home-grown  product  of  his  was  quite  fine,  but  I  dared 
not  smoke  it  around  his  place  for  I  realized  he  would 
know  where  it  came  from  and  stealing  was  a  serious 
offense  for  prisoners. 


loo        Behind  the  German  Lines 

None  of  the  prisoners  considered  it  stealing  to  take 
anything  one  could  get  away  with,  as  they  were  per- 
forming forced  labor  for  five  cents  a  day.  It  was 
quite  legitimate,  so  long  as  one  were  not  caught  red- 
handed,  but  there  was  practically  nothing  around  the 
place  that  I  wanted.  Once  in  awhile  I  would  have  a 
raw  egg,  taking  care  to  dispose  of  the  shell.  I  was 
watched  closely,  or  I  thought  I  was,  for  some  member 
of  the  family  was  usually  in  sight,  especially  if  we 
were  in  the  fields.  However,  I  preferred  to  be  alone 
for  conversation  was  out  of  the  question. 

One  evening,  as  I  was  cleaning  the  stable,  a  well- 
dressed  elderly  woman  came  out  the  back  door  and 
stood  watching  me.  When  I  stood  up  to  meet  her  stare, 
she  spoke  in  English  with  scarcely  a  German  accent. 

"You  are  an  American?"  she  asked. 

"Yes." 

"How  do  you  like  Germany?" 

I  tried  to  avoid  a  discussion  by  changing  the  sub- 
ject to  America  and  herself. 

"Yes,  my  husband  was  an  exchange  professor  in  a 
university  in  the  United  States.  I  was  visiting  here 
when  war  broke  out  and  was  unable  to  return  to 
America  and  to  him." 

We  chatted  a  few  minutes  in  a  friendly  manner. 
She  had  come  out  from  Gotha  for  eggs.  Although 
she  did  not  admit  it  her  inference  was  that  food  was 
very  scarce  in  the  city. 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  war?"  she  demanded. 

"You  are  German,  I  am  American ;  we  do  not  agree, 
so  I  will  express  no  opinion,"  I  answered. 


Eschenbergen  loi 

"We  did  not  begin  the  war,"  her  very  denial 
indicated  a  guilty  conscience  seeking  justification. 

**  Madame,"  I  replied,  ''you  are  a  woman  of  educa- 
tion, not  a  peasant;  your  husband  is  a  professor;  you 
have  traveled,  but  you  cannot  see  this  question  of  the 
war  straight  because  you  are  German  and  your  Ger- 
man papers  tell  you  lies  which  you  believe.  In  a 
few  years,  when  the  opinion  of  the  world  with  its 
verified  truths  is  in  print,  you  may  possibly  know 
how  I  think  now,  and  what  I  consider  your  nation  to 
be." 

Standing  there  on  the  manure  pile,  with  a  broom  in 
hand,  I  made  my  little  speech.  Perhaps  I  had  said 
too  much!  When  I  was  given  the  opportunity  to 
speak  English,  I  let  loose,  as  I  had  long  since  become 
furious  on  the  subject  of  who  started  the  war. 

Her  eyes  flashed,  and  as  she  went  into  the  house  she 
picked  up  her  skirts  as  if  my  company  might  con- 
taminate her. 

On  the  few  rainy  days  we  had,  which  prevented 
outdoor  work,  the  women  did  threshing  with  hand 
flails.  I  was  given  a  course  of  lessons,  but  not  liking 
the  work,  I  increased  my  clumsiness,  and  came  so 
near  hitting  the  others  on  the  head  with  the  stout 
hickory  end  of  the  flail,  that  they  finally  gave  me  up 
in  disgust. 

From  then  on  the  wood  pile  was  my  place  on  rainy 
days,  or  at  times  when  there  was  nothing  else  to  be 
done.  No  time-server  ever  looked  at  the  clock  of- 
tener  than  I  did  during  the  day  while  on  that  farm. 
My  watch,  which  I  religiously  kept  out  of  sight, 


I02       Behind  the  German  Lines 

counted  the  hours  to  the  next  meal,  or  to  the  end  of 
the  day. 

The  day  over,  I  returned  to  the  Gasthof.  One  of 
the  Frenchmen,  a  young  fellow  from  Morocco,  be- 
came my  greatest  companion  during  the  evenings. 
Strolling  around  the  village  we  exchanged  views  and 
impressions,  and  my  French  improved  with  each  day. 
He  was  always  eager  to  hear  about  New  York  and 
America,  and  asked  innumerable  questions. 

Did  we  have  a  peasant  class  in  America?  Was 
everyone  rich  in  my  country?  What  were  the 
American  soldiers  like?  And  were  there  many  in 
France?     I  tried  to  answer  him  honestly. 

When  I  knew  him  better,  he  told  me  of  himself  and 
his  family.  He  had  been  a  prisoner  for  fourteen 
months,  during  which  time  he  had  been  on  seven 
farms  and  in  three  factories.  He  hated  the  boches — 
hated  them  as  only  a  Frenchman  hates,  not  showing 
his  hate,  but  always  brooding  over  the  injustice  and 
cruelty  of  the  Hun.  He  had  been  in  prison  for  pun- 
ishment seven  times  during  his  captivity,  all  for 
trivial  offenses. 

I  had  arrived  in  the  village  of  Eschenbergen  on  a 
Friday.  The  following  Sunday,  on  which  day  prison- 
ers did  not  work,  was  the  first  of  the  four  that  I  spent 
there.  As  the  guest  of  the  Frenchmen,  Italians,  and 
Belgian,  those  Sundays  will  long  be  remembered 
for  the  real  dinners  we  had.  The  food  that  was  sent 
them  was  saved  for  Sunday,  and  that  one  meal  was 
enough  to  satisfy  us  for  the  rest  of  the  week.  Boiled 
rice,  rabbit  or  chicken  bought  from  a  farmer  or  stolen, 


Eschenbergen  103 

beans  or  peas,  French  biscuits  and  coffee  made  the 
meal. 

The  Belgian  acted  as  cook,  using  the  proprietor's 
kitchen,  while  a  small  room  off  the  sleeping  room 
served  as  a  dining  room.  The  meal  was  always  a 
jolly  affair.  The  conversation  was  carried  on  mostly 
in  French,  with  a  few  words  of  Italian  and  German 
thrown  in,  where  an  explanation  was  necessary. 
These  occasions  carried  me  back  to  pre-prison  days 
when  I  spent  long  evenings  at  a  French  dressing  station 
over  a  game  of  cards  and  a  bottle  of  Pinard.  The  meal 
being  over  and  the  few  dishes  washed,  we  all  took  a 
walk  until  it  was  dark  or  lingered  about  the  steps  of 
the  Gasthof  watching  the  young  people  who  passed  in. 

Sunday  night  in  the  village  was  the  one  evening  of 
the  week  when  the  people,  young  and  old,  dressed 
in  their  best  clothes  and  came  to  the  Gasthof  to  drink 
beer.  We  were  not  permitted  in  the  bar,  and,  had  we 
been,  we  would  not  have  associated  with  the  Germans. 
Young  people,  boys  and  girls,  trooped  in  laughing  and 
joking,  and  now  and  then  a  song  rang  through  the 
evening.  It  was  a  surprise  to  me,  being  the  first 
expression  of  lightheartedness  I  Jiad  observed.  As 
I  learned  later  it  was  the  one  day  and  evening  when 
work  was  forgotten. 

As  everywhere,  there  were  no  young  men  in  the 
village,  although  the  girls  were  numerous,  as  were  the 
children.  They  and  the  old  people,  together  with  a 
few  prisoners,  were  doing  the  farm  work,  keeping  pro- 
duction up  to  normal  and  furnishing  their  share  of 
food  for  the  army. 


104       Behind  the  German  Lines 

Unlike  our  American  farms  and  our  farming  dis- 
tricts, the  German  villages  were  compact,  one  house 
built  against  its  neighbor,  with  no  yard  between  and 
no  front  yard.  Each  house  with  its  barns,  as  I  have 
mentioned  before,  was  so  arranged  that  it  could  be 
locked  at  night,  leaving  nothing  exposed  to  thievery. 
Every  farm  was  suspicious  of  its  neighbors.  All  the 
houses  being  in  the  village,  the  fields  were  necessarily 
in  the  outlying  district. 

Herr  Karl's  land  lay  in  five  different  fields,  none  of 
them  adjoining.  He  was  quite  well  off  for  a  peasant, 
as  was  shown  by  the  number  of  cattle  and  acres  he 
possessed,  probably  about  two  hundred  acres  in  all. 
Some  inhabitants  in  the  village  had  only  an  acre  or 
two  which  furnished  a  bare  existence. 

During  my  second  week  the  young  Frenchman  was 
sent  to  another  farm  as  a  result  of  a  quarrel  with  his 
chef.  Not  until  he  had  left  did  I  realize  what  a  com- 
panion he  had  been.  That  evening  I  made  up  my 
mind  I  had  had  enough  of  Eschenbergen  and  the 
Gasthof,  with  its  mixture  of  nationalities.  From 
what  I  had  learned  from  the  other  men,  I  knew  that 
the  quickest  and  easiest  way  to  leave  was  to  make 
my  work  so  unsatisfactory  that  I  would  be  either  sent 
back  or  given  another  place.  So  I  began  to  loaf  on 
the  job,  to  work  carelessly  and  slowly.  When  chop- 
ping wood  I  sat  down,  taking  my  time  over  each  stick. 
Herr  Karl  remonstrated  with  me,  but  I  did  it  my  own 
way  in  the  end. 

On  September  12th,  my  first  Red  Cross  box  arrived. 
Words  cannot  express  the  joy  that  I  experienced  as  I 


Eschenbergen  105 

unpacked  the  contents.  Canned  food,  consisting  of 
beans,  peas,  corn,  salmon,  corned  beef,  corned-beef 
hash,  jam,  coffee,  milk,  sugar,  dried  figs,  a  bar  of  soap, 
and  six  pounds  of  American  hard-tack.  About 
thirty  pounds  in  all.  And  last,  but  not  least,  five 
sacks  of  precious  Bull  Durham.  It  was  my  chance 
to  return  the  hospitality  of  a  Sunday  dinner,  so  I  let 
the  Belgian  help  himself  to  the  box.  That  night  I 
felt  that  my  country  had  not  forgotten  me.  In  the 
succeeding  days  the  boxes  of  food  had  as  great  a 
moral  effect  on  my  spirits  as  did  the  food  on  my 
physical  condition.  From  that  time  on  hunger  was 
a  thing  of  the  past  and  I  began  to  live  better  than 
my  German  keepers. 

The  following  week  my  first  mail  arrived,  a  letter 
from  Mother,  forwarded  from  Paris,  and  a  letter  from 
an  American  woman  in  France.  With  the  realization 
that  events  were  progressing  satisfactorily  with  the 
Allies,  and  with  the  knowledge  that  all  was  well  at 
home,  the  immediate  future  could  be  borne  with  a 
more  cheerful  heart.  Those  letters  came  like  voices 
out  of  the  dark,  and  their  torn  condition  marked  my 
appreciation  as  they  were  read  and  re-read. 

The  evening  after  my  mail  arrived  the  guard  an- 
nounced that  I  was  to  leave  at  six  the  following  morn- 
ing. Upon  being  questioned  he  told  us  I  was  going  to 
a  neighboring  village  to  work  for  a  Frau.  So  I  had 
done  my  last  work  for  Herr  Karl.  I  was  not  dis- 
appointed. The  work  had  been  hard.  During  the 
harvest  I  had  put  as  many  as  twelve  wagonloads  of 
grain  in  the  barn  each  day,  lifting  the  sheaves  into 


io6        Behind  the  German  Lines 

the  loft  on  the  end  of  a  twelve-foot  fork,  and  there  was 
the  threshing  still  to  be  done.  I  was  indeed  glad  that 
I  was  not  to  be  returned  to  camp.  Plenty  of  exercise, 
a  comfortable  bed,  and  good  food  were  not  to  be 
scorned.  Langensalza  camp  was  better  than  Laon, 
and  a  farm  better  than  either. 

After  our  Sunday  night  supper  in  the  little  room 
adjoining  our  sleeping  quarters,  I  slipped  over  to 
my  chefs  house  for  the  few  toilet  articles  I  had  left 
there.  No  one  was  in  the  house  so  I  never  saw  them 
again.  A  farewell  was  unnecessary.  If  his  remem- 
brance of  me  is  as  unpleasant  as  mine  is  of  his  estab- 
lishment, he  must  have  had  no  regret  at  my  going. 

In  my  three  weeks  there  I  had  received  no  word  of 
cheer,  not  a  pfenning  of  pay,  and  seldom  a  smile. 
The  mornings  began  with  a  gruff  morgen,  and  when 
I  left  at  night,  it  was  with  a  feeling  that  they  be- 
grudged me  the  hour  or  two  before  sundown.  I  was 
glad  to  try  my  luck  elsewhere. 


CHAPTER  VI 

ILLEBEN 

Monday  morning,  September  23d,  I  said  good-bye 
to  my  camarades,  Russian,  Italian,  French,  and  the 
Belgian,  swung  my  luggage  to  my  shoulder,  and  fol- 
lowed my  guard  down  the  stairs  and  out  of  the  vil- 
lage. We  took  the  same  road  by  which  we  had  come 
three  weeks  before.  After  a  few  minutes'  wait  at  the 
station,  we  boarded  the  train  going  in  the  direction 
of  Langensalza.  As  the  train  tumbled  on,  I  thought 
possibly  the  guard  was  lying  about  my  going  to  an- 
other farm,  but  half  an  hour's  ride  brought  us  to 
Eckartslaben,  a  few  miles  this  side  of  Langensalza. 

A  woman  stepped  forward  and  spoke  to  the  guard 
and  he  pointed  to  me.  She  looked  me  over  with  an 
appraising  eye  and  after  a  moment  emitted  a  number 
of  "/a'5,"  thus  showing  her  approval.  With  a 
''kommf'  thrown  over  her  shoulder,  she  started  off. 
My  guide  remounted  the  coach. 

Eckartslaben  was  not  my  destination.  Chatting 
with  some  friends,  the  Frau  led  the  way  to  the  next 
village,  by  name  Illeben,  which  lay  almost  hidden 
among  the  trees  and  rolling  hills. 

My  first  impression  of  the  Frau  was  good,  to  say 

107 


io8       Behind  the  German  Lines 

the  least.  She  was  a  woman  of  about  thirty-five, 
neatly  dressed  in  a  fashion  not  suggestive  of  a  farm- 
er's wife.  Her  face,  though  not  kindly,  was  pleas- 
ant and  her  manner  authoritative.  Taking  things 
as  they  came,  I  immediately  decided  my  change  had 
been  for  the  better. 

At  a  fork  in  the  road  her  companions  left  her  and 
she  turned  her  attention  to  me.  With  what  little 
German  I  had  picked  up  in  the  past  weeks,  we  man- 
aged to  carry  on  a  conversation,  w^hich,  freely  trans- 
lated, ran  in  this  order: 

"Are  you  a  farmer  by  trade?"  she  questioned. 

"No." 

"Can  you  plow?" 

"No." 

"Oh,  well!     You'll  learn  how  here." 

I  assented  that  I  might. 

'  *  Why  did  you  leave  the  other  place  ? "  I  shrugged 
my  shoulders  for  answer. 

"Did  they  not  feed  you  well?" 

"No!"  I  said,  in  the  hope  it  might  influence  her  to 
serve  a  better  meal. 

We  entered  the  village,  which  during  the  next  two 
months  was  to  become  so  familiar.  As  we  walked 
down  the  winding  street,  I  heard  the  little  windows 
squeak  open,  and  out  of  the  corner  of  my  eye,  I  could 
catch  the  sight  of  curious  old  women  poking  their 
heads  out  to  see  who  was  going  by.  Quite  uncon- 
scious of  the  fact  that  I  was  creating  comment,  I 
looked  around  me  with  the  innocence  of  a  farmer 
visiting  New  York  City  for  the  first  time. 


Illeben  109 

Her  house  stood  in  the  center  of  the  village  at  the 
right  angle  turn  of  the  main  street,  so  that  it  was 
situated  on  what  might  have  been  called  the  village 
square  had  there  been  one.  A  creek  ran  through  the 
village  and  near  the  house.  On  its  banks  geese 
waddled  in  the  mud  and  called  noisily. 

As  we  entered  the  door,  I  noticed  painted  in  large 
letters  across  the  front  of  the  house  Zur  Tanne. 
The  question  which  rose  in  my  mind  was  answered  as 
soon  as  I  crossed  the  doorstep  and  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  bar.  I  had  gotten  into  another  beer  house. 
Did  the  woman  believe  for  a  minute  I  was  a  bar- 
tender? 

After  leading  me  upstairs  to  a  small  room  over  the 
hall  and  with  a  window  looking  out  over  the  street 
we  returned  to  the  bar,  where  she  drew  me  a  glass  of 
beer.  That  and  a  huge  slice  of  bread  with  Dutch 
cheese  was  my  friihstiick.  As  I  ate  my  breakfast,  I 
looked  around  me.  The  bar  was  small,  and  took  up 
half  the  width  of  the  room,  being  on  the  right  side  of 
the  door  that  led  to  the  hall.  Two  tables  with 
chairs  stood  on  the  street  side  of  the  room,  while  on 
the  other  was  one  table  with  an  oil-cloth  cover,  and  a 
small  coal  stove  and  a  couch.  On  the  walls  were 
prints  of  the  Kaiser  and  his  family,  a  notice  urging 
subscription  to  the  submarine  war  campaign,  and  a 
calendar.  The  three  windows  looking  out  on  the 
street  were  curtained.  The  whole  room  bore  an 
atmosphere  of  business  mingled  with  home  life. 

By  the  time  I  had  finished,  Frau  Hess  returned. 
A  decided  change  in  her  appearance  met  my  eye. 


no        Behind  the  German  Lines 

She  had  donned  her  working  clothes.  An  old  hand- 
kerchief was  bound  over  her  head,  a  rough  dirty  skirt 
replaced  her  neat  dress,  and  her  sleeves  were  rolled 
up. 

''Komm!''  she  ordered,  not  unkindly,  when  she 
saw  I  had  finished.  I  followed  her  to  the  back  door 
at  the  end  of  the  narrow  hall.  Her  back  yard  was 
similar  to  the  one  at  Eschenbergen,  though  very 
much  smaller.  The  high  manure  pile  lay  at  the  door- 
step, and  took  up  a  good  part  of  the  yard.  Behind 
it  stood  a  wagon  loaded  with  hay.  To  this  she 
pointed,  at  the  same  time  handing  me  a  pitchfork. 
She  disappeared  up  the  stairs  of  the  barn  and  in  a 
moment  swung  open  the  loft  door.  I  fell  to  work 
pitching  the  hay  up  to  her. 

That  finished,  we  wheeled  the  wagon  out  into  a  side 
street  beside  the  brook.  When  she  opened  the  stable 
door  I  expected  to  see  horses,  but  in  the  semi-dark 
stall  stood  two  sleepy  looking  cows  and  a  young 
heifer. 

Harness  in  hand  she  gave  me  my  first  lesson  in 
hitching  up  the  two  cows.  It  was  a  simple  matter. 
The  tugs  were  fastened  to  a  headgear,  one  rein  served 
the  purpose  of  two  and  with  our  legs  dangling  from 
the  board  seat  and  the  cows  taking  their  time,  we 
started  for  the  fields.  As  we  passed  through  the 
village  I  noticed  that  Illeben  was  much  smaller  than 
Eschenbergen  and  not  so  prosperous  looking  or  clean. 
It  took  us  fully  half  an  hour  to  reach  the  Frau's 
potato  field. 

I  had  dug  potatoes  before,  at  Eschenbergen,  so 


Illeben  m 

that  the  job  was  not  a  new  one.  One  sack  of  po- 
tatoes and  a  few  cow  beets  was  the  result  of  what  Httle 
we  did  that  morning. 

When  Frau  Hess  gave  me  instructions  that  even- 
ing in  feeding  the  cows,  I  saw  that  I  was  to  have  a 
freer  hand  in  the  work  than  on  the  last  farm.  This 
pleased  me,  for  the  work  would  be  less  monotonous. 
Frau  Hess  probably  knew  nothing  of  the  psychology 
of  interesting  an  employee,  yet  by  giving  me  an  ac- 
tive part  in  all  phases  of  the  farm  work,  she  created 
an  interest  in  the  work  and  I  did  more  than  I  would 
have  otherwise. 

During  supper  that  evening  I  was  pleased  to  learn 
that  there  were  two  Englishmen  in  the  village.  This 
was  an  added  attraction  to  my  new  place.  Now 
there  would  be  company  during  the  evenings. 

I  had  just  settled  down  at  one  of  the  tables  in  the 
barroom — we  also  had  all  our  meals  there — it  being 
the  general  living  room  of  the  small  household,  when 
in  walked  the  two  Englishmen.  An  introduction  was 
unnecessary;  we  shook  hands  cordially  and  sat  down. 

As  in  the  former  village,  I  was  the  first  American 
to  arrive,  and  the  news  that  I  gave  my  newly  made 
companions  was  the  first  authentic  information  of  the 
war  they  had  received  in  months,  as  they  had  not 
been  in  Langensalza  for  some  time.  The  evening 
passed  all  too  quickly.  I  was  more  than  glad  to  be 
able  to  bear  good  tidings,  not  to  mention  the  pleas- 
ure of  being  with  Englishmen  again. 

The  older  of  the  two  men,  John  Campbell,  a 
Scotchman  from  Natal,  South  Africa,  had  been  a 


112        Behind  the  German  Lines 

prisoner  for  over  two  years,  most  of  the  time  being 
spent  on  the  farm  on  which  he  was  now  working. 
Campbell  was  past  middle  age,  slight  in  stature  and 
quiet  in  manner.  Like  the  true  Britisher  that  he  was, 
he  had  answered  England's  call  in  the  early  part  of 
the  war,  had  gone  into  training  and  then  to  the  front, 
where  he  was  wounded  and  captured.  As  he  told 
me:  '*I  was  on  duty  as  an  outpost  alone,  supposing 
at  the  time  reinforcements  were  behind.  When  the 
boches  came  over  I  plugged  away  at  them  till  they  got 
me.  Not  till  the  Hun  line  passed  over  me  did  I 
recover  consciousness  and  find  that  I  was  only 
slightly  wounded."  The  deep  lines  in  his  face  told 
of  his  suffering  more  plainly  than  he  put  into  words. 
Harry  A.  Turner,  of  Melbourne,  Australia,  was 
the  other  Britisher — a  dark-haired,  dark-eyed,  force- 
ful man  in  the  prime  of  life.  He  also  had  been  a 
prisoner  for  over  two  years  and  had  served  on  the 
farm  most  of  the  time  with  Campbell.  The  exact 
details  of  the  capture  of  these  men,  when  and  where 
they  were  taken  and  to  what  regiment  they  belonged, 
I  am  unable  to  state,  as  my  notes  made  at  the  time 
were  lost.  But  their  picture  as  they  walked  into  the 
room  that  evening  will  never  be  lost.  Their  neat 
black  uniforms  issued  by  the  British  relief  committee, 
were  set  off  by  polished  buttons.  Their  short  and 
snappy  salute  brought  back  to  me  a  picture  of  Eng- 
lish troops  on  their  way  to  the  lines,  in  full  equip- 
ment, stepping  forward  with  as  much  energy  and 
order  as  if  on  parade.  I  was  proud  to  know  two  such 
soldiers. 


Illeben  113 

Frau  Hess  entered  into  our  conversation  consider- 
ably that  evening,  one  of  the  Englishmen  acting  as 
interpreter.  Her  greatest  interest  was  in  me,  while 
that  of  the  Englishmen  was  in  the  war. 

One  of  the  Frenchmen  at  Eschenbergen  was  re- 
ceiving almost  daily  a  copy  of  the  Petite  Parisienne, 
for  which  his  chef  had  subscribed  for  him.  The 
night  before  I  had  left  I  had  read  the  latest  of  these, 
so  that  I  knew^  of  the  advance  on  Metz  and  of  the 
later  activities  along  the  front.  That  first  evening 
was  far  too  short.  For  more  than  a  week  I  was 
answering  questions  both  from  the  Englishmen  and 
the  Frau. 

The  men  left  about  nine,  as  their  chef  locked  up 
about  that  hour.  I  turned  in  shortly  afterwards. 
As  I  lay  in  bed  reflecting  on  the  day's  developments, 
I  congratulated  myself  on  being  so  happily  situated. 
Frau  Hess  had  never  had  a  prisoner  before,  yet  she 
managed  during  the  four  years  of  the  war  to  run  her 
small  farm  of  twenty -five  acres  with  the  aid  of  her 
niece  and  her  neighbors.  Why  she  wanted  one  now^ 
the  Englishmen,  as  well  as  her  friends,  could  not 
understand,  and  I  never  learned  just  why.  At  least 
she  and  her  place  were  an  improvement  on  my 
former  position.  I  rolled  over  and  went  to  sleep, 
pleased  with  the  present  prospects. 

The  window  of  my  little  room  had  stood  open  dur- 
ing the  warm  weather.  When  it  began  to  get  cold 
Frau  Hess  told  me  to  keep  it  closed,  particularly  at 
night,  lest  the  night  air  should  make  me  sick.  In 
answer  I  explained  that  we  never  slept  with  closed 


1 14        Behind  the  German  Lines 

windows  in  America,  even  in  the  winter.  But  it 
did  no  good.  According  to  her  notion  of  hygiene, 
I  would  kill  myself.  A  few  days  later  the  Frau  calked 
the  cracks  around  the  door  of  my  room,  telling  me  to 
keep  the  cold  air  to  myself.  She  and  her  son,  I 
noticed,  slept  in  her  room  with  all  the  windows  and 
the  door  closed. 

A  rapping  on  my  door  the  next  morning  about  six 
o'clock  told  me  that  it  was  time  to  get  up.  I  dressed 
after  a  good  night's  sleep  and  went  downstairs. 

The  first  job  in  hand  was  to  feed  the  cows  and  clean 
out  the  stall.  That  took  only  about  half  an  hour  and 
was  followed  by  coffee  drinking  or  breakfast,  which 
consisted  of  coffee  and  bread.     Thus  the  day  began. 

In  the  few  weeks  that  followed,  the  potatoes  had  to 
be  gotten  in,  the  cow  beets  pulled  up,  their  tops  cut 
off  and  the  beets  themselves  stored  in  the  cellar.  I 
was  thankful  that  I  had  not  another  crop  of  grain  to 
harvest  like  that  at  Eschenbergen. 

Digging  two  acres  of  potatoes  was  bad  enough,  for 
it  was  all  handwork  and  tiresome.  Fraulein  Paula, 
the  Frau's  niece,  and  the  Frau  herself  worked  with 
me,  and  at  times  only  the  Fraulein  and  I  worked 
together.  The  ratio  between  the  work  we  accom- 
plished— that  is,  when  the  niece  and  I  were  working 
alone — and  the  German  I  learned  during  our  conver- 
sation, was  about  equal. 

Paula  was  only  eighteen,  a  buxom  young  lass  of  the 
German  type,  though  not  of  the  usual  German  fair- 
ness. We  would  work  busily  for  a  few  minutes,  then 
she  would  sit  back  on  her  heels  and  ask  questions 


Illeben  115 

about  America  or  the  war.  My  answers  were  always 
more  or  less  exaggerated,  both  in  regard  to  the  suc- 
cess of  the  Allied  armies  and  concerning  the  beauty 
and  wealth  of  America. 

At  three  or  four  in  the  afternoon  the  Frau  would 
come  out  in  the  wagon,  cow  drawn,  with  a  milk  can  of 
hot  coffee  and  some  cake.  The  cake  was  nearer  our 
brown  bread  in  flavor  than  real  cake,  but  it  was 
acceptable  and  the  short  rest  prepared  us  for  the 
remainder  of  the  day's  work.  Then  we  would  all 
fall  to  work  until  the  potatoes  were  in  sacks.  The 
wagon  was  then  brought  up,  the  Frau  and  Fraulein 
loading  them  into  the  wagon,  while  I,  at  their  direc- 
tion, stood  in  the  wagon  and  arranged  them.  The 
load  being  complete,  we  drove  back  to  the  house. 
Paula  walked  back  across  country  to  start  supper. 
The  Frau  rode  on  top  of  the  potatoes,  and  I  tramped 
alongside,  tending  the  cows  and  the  little  screw  brake 
on  the  side  of  the  wagon  when  we  came  to  the  long 
hill  dropping  down  into  the  village. 

By  half  past  six  my  chores  were  over  and  the  day's 
work  finished.  At  the  washbasin  in  the  kitchen  I 
cleaned  up  and  then  retired  to  the  bar.  The  English- 
men had  lent  me  a  few  books  and  with  these  I 
settled  down  until  supper. 

Our  suppers  usually  consisted  of  boiled  potatoes, 
flaxseed  oil,  and  salt,  or  at  times  it  was  only  tea  and 
bread  and  butter,  and  on  one  or  two  occasions,  choco- 
late and  bread,  the  chocolate  having  been  sent  from 
the  front  by  the  Frau's  husband,  who  was  an  unter- 
offizier  in  artillery.     It  surprised  me  that  the  Frau 


ii6       Behind  the  German  Lines 

would  serve  a  prisoner  with  chocolate,  as  that  article 
was  very  scarce  and  in  the  villages  sold  as  high  as 
fifty  marks  a  pound.  Its  value  as  compared  to  sugar 
is  illustrated  by  the  fact  that  Turner  traded  a  quarter 
of  a  pound  of  cocoa  to  a  woman  for  three  and  a  half 
pounds  of  sugar.  However,  the  woman's  husband 
was  in  charge  of  the  distribution  of  sugar  in  the  vil- 
lage, and  at  the  time  of  the  trade  asked  Turner  to  say 
nothing  of  the  exchange. 

During  my  first  evenings  there,  Frau  Hess  de- 
manded to  know  all  about  me  and  my  position  in  civil 
life.  Turner  and  Campbell  acted  as  interpreters  so 
that  she  managed  to  understand. 

"What  did  you  do  in  America?  "  the  Frau  asked. 

"Nothing,"  I  answered. 

"Nothing?"  The  Frau  looked  at  me  as  if  I  were 
crazy. 

"Nothing." 

"What  does  your  father  do?"  she  demanded. 

"Nothing." 

The  Frau  was  amazed.  When  I  told  Turner  he 
was  a  lawyer,  he  remarked:  "Well,  I  don't  know  the 
German  for  that,  so  I'll  tell  her  he  is  an  official  of  a 
State;  we'll  make  him  a  governor,  how's  that?"  So 
Turner  explained  at  great  length  my  father's  mythical 
position.  As  the  Frau  grasped  the  meaning  of  it  all, 
a  light  came  into  her  eyes  as  she  exclaimed : 

''Achldu  bist  ein  Kapitalist .^ " 

''Ja!  Jar'  I  lied.  That  started  things.  From 
then  on  I  was  a  marked  man.  The  Frau  quizzed  me 
herself  and  then  boasted  to  the  whole  village  of  her 


Illeben  117 

prisoner,  so  that  I  was  an  object  of  curiosity.  The 
village  was  so  small  that  gossip  was  the  chief  topic  of 
conversation,  and  everybody  knew  everybody  else's 
affairs. 

Often  in  the  fields  the  Frau  and  I  would  be  work- 
ing together,  when  she  would  stop  and  lean  on  her 
pitchfork. 

''Women  in  America  don't  work,  you  say?"  She 
would  sigh. 

"Oh,  no!  Not  as  they  do  here  in  Germany,"  was 
my  answer. 

'^Ach,  Gott  in  Himmel!  and  look  at  us  poor  crea- 
tures." Perhaps  I  was  sowing  seeds  of  discontent 
in  the  village,  or  perhaps  only  telling  her  how  the 
other  half  of  the  world  lived.  At  least  I  jarred  her 
out  of  her  German  complacency  and  gave  her  food 
for  thought. 

But  American  life  was  not  what  I  wanted  to  talk  of 
most.  By  telling  of  the  American  army,  and  its 
great  numbers,  I  figured  I  might  do  a  little  propa- 
ganda work  on  my  own  part  to  make  the  peasants  in 
the  village  realize  that  America  was  not  bluffing  and 
thus,  perchance,  weaken  the  morale  of  the  sons  and 
fathers  at  the  front.  Whatever  I  could  say  would 
have  only  a  very  little  effect,  if  any  at  all,  yet  it 
might  help.  So,  when  asked  concerning  the  Ameri- 
cans, my  reply  was: 

''Three  million  Americans  at  the  front,  five  million 
awaiting  transportation  to  France,  and  fifteen  million 
are  in  training." 

To  which  Frau  Hess  exclaimed: 


ii8       Behind  the  German  Lines 

''Ach,  Gott  in  Himmel!''  and  raised  her  arms  in 
distress. 

At  other  times  she  would  laugh  at  me  and  explain 
that  we  had  no  ships,  that  the  submarines  were 
sinking  them  all. 

"Oh,  no!"  I  would  answer;  ''for  instance,  the 
Vaterland,  which  your  papers  reported  as  sunk,  is 
bringing  ten  thousand  troops,  fine  American  soldiers, 
every  trip.     Figure  it  out  yourself." 

The  potatoes  dug  during  the  previous  afternoon 
had  to  be  stored  in  the  cellar  the  next  morning.  The 
first  few  loads  were  put  in  a  bin  at  the  far  end  of  the 
cellar  for  immediate  use.  The  place  being  dark  and 
cool  they  would  keep  all  winter.  The  last  fifty  sacks 
were  piled  up  in  the  corner  of  another  part  of  the  cel- 
lar, a  part  that  I  knew  was  used  as  the  cow  beet  bin. 
The  potatoes  finished,  we  began  work  on  the  beets. 
It  took  nearly  a  week  to  finish  these. 

One  morning  the  Frau  led  me  down  cellar.  After  a 
long  explanation  on  her  part  I  understood  that  she 
wanted  me  to  build  a  wall  of  beets  in  such  a  way  as  to 
hide  the  potatoes.  I  then  realized  why  she  had  left 
the  last  fifty  sacks  of  potatoes  in  the  bin.  It  was  a 
simple  case  of  food  hoarding. 

By  the  light  of  a  candle  I  built  the  wall.  It  was  not 
hard  work,  but  very  exacting.  If  one  beet  became 
loose  the  wall  caved  in  and  I  had  to  begin  over  again. 
When  it  was  finally  finished,  after  two  days,  I  called 
the  Frau. 

"Just  as  well  as  my  husband  could  have  done!" 
was  her  comment,     I  didn't  know  whether  she  con- 


Illeben  119 

sidered  that  a  compliment  or  an  insult.  Maybe  I 
was  learning  a  little  about  farming,  but  I  most  cer- 
tainly did  not  relish  the  idea  of  being  in  a  class  with 
her  boche  husband. 

As  I  had  sold  my  razor  in  camp,  I  went  to  the  bar- 
ber while  in  Eschenbergen,  every  Sunday  morning. 
He  shaved  me  for  fifty  pfennings.  The  Englishmen 
came  to  my  rescue  at  Illeben,  where  there  was  no 
barber,  by  giving  me  a  razor.  But  that  did  not  cut 
my  hair,  and  it  was  growing  rapidly.  Turner  offered 
to  cut  it,  but  I  declined  with  thanks.  Campbell 
offered  his  services,  which  I  also  refused.  Frau  Hess 
finally  got  a  barber.  A  chair  was  placed  in  the  back 
yard  and  the  Frau,  arms  akimbo,  stood  back  to  watch 
the  proceedings.  As  the  German  was  about  to  begin, 
I  realized  he  was  going  to  make  a  clean  shave  of  the 
affair  with  the  use  of  clippers.     I  rose : 

"You  are  not  going  to  cut  it  all  off?"  I  asked. 

I  objected.  I  was  not  ashamed  of  the  shape  of 
my  head,  but  I  was  not  going  to  lose  all  of  my  hair. 
The  Frau  seemed  somewhat  disappointed,  but  there 
was  no  hair-cutting  that  morning. 

Sunday  was  a  day  of  rest  for  the  prisoners,  and 
Frau  Hess  did  no  work  on  that  day.  However,  I 
consented  to  feed  the  cattle  on  Sunday — that  was  the 
extent  of  my  work. 

After  breakfast  I  went  over  to  the  Umbriet  place, 
where  Turner  and  Campbell  worked.  They  occu- 
pied a  small  room  in  the  barn,  built  over  the  stable. 
Their  first  night  on  the  place  Herr  Umbriet  had 


I20       Behind  the  German  Lines 

locked  the  door  at  the  bottom  of  the  stairs  that  led 
to  their  room.  The  Englishmen  kicked  it  down. 
After  that  was  repeated  on  several  occasions,  the 
crabby  old  farmer  learned  to  leave  the  door  unlocked. 

The  old  man  was  not  only  crabby,  but  crazy — 
verilckt,  his  neighbors  and  family  called  him.  He  was 
close,  stingy,  and  industrious,  lording  it  over  his  fam- 
ily, servants,  and  neighbors.  No  one  in  the  village 
liked  him,  although  he  was  one  of  the  wealthiest  men 
there,  having  married  money,  as  it  were,  his  farm 
being  really  owned  by  his  wife  and  stepdaughter. 

When  Turner  and  Campbell  went  on  the  place, 
they  resolved  to  make  the  German  understand  that 
they  were  English ;  that  the  English  were  an  entirely 
different  race  from  the  Huns,  being  gentlemen  at  all 
times.  Such  an  attitude  was  hard  to  take,  let  alone 
to  maintain  in  the  face  of  peasant  ignorance,  lack  of 
manners  and  morality,  and  the  ever-present  German 
pigheadedness. 

From  the  beginning  they  refused  to  eat  at  the  same 
table  with  the  family.  That  was  a  point  I  had  not 
thought  of,  and  it  was  too  late  to  change.  In  my 
case,  however,  I  was  in  a  more  kindly  disposed  house- 
hold. The  result  of  their  stand  was  that  they  had  a 
table  in  the  kitchen  by  themselves,  and  that  they 
lived  better  than  the  family  for  whom  they  worked, 
for  together  with  the  German  food  they  had  their  own 
food  parcels  sent  from  England.  In  many  instances 
the  Frau  would  cut  down  on  the  food  given  them, 
thinking  they  had  plenty  of  their  own,  then  Turner 
would  fly  into  a  rage,  imitating  the  German  method  of 


Illeben  121 

argument,  and  food  would  sometimes  be  forthcoming 
and  sometimes  not ! 

Often  I  would  go  over  in  the  evening  before  they 
had  finished  supper  and  sit  in  the  kitchen  visiting. 
One  evening  I  found  Turner  in  jolly  mood,  and  this 
was  the  cause.  The  family  had  guests  for  supper. 
The  meal  served  that  night  was  mainly  boiled  pota- 
toes. When  the  Englishmen  sat  down  to  their  sup- 
per and  began  peeling  their  potatoes,  they  found  them 
frozen  and  unfit  to  eat.  Turner  saw  his  chance. 
No  one  was  in  the  kitchen.  Hastily  he  exchanged  the 
bad  potatoes  for  the  good  ones  in  the  family  dish  and 
he  and  Campbell  continued  supper.  Undoubtedly 
the  Frau  had  intentionally  served  them  with  the  bad 
ones,  but  she  made  no  comment,  although  Frieda, 
the  little  house  servant,  was  unable  to  suppress  her 
merriment  when  she  came  from  the  dining  room. 

Frieda  was  a  sketch.  ''A  typical  little  English 
barmaid,"  Turner  used  to  say.  Small  and  active, 
she  slaved  for  her  mark  a  day  from  five  in  the  morn- 
ing until  late  at  night.  I  often  watched  her  as  she 
worked  in  the  kitchen  in  the  evening,  and  she  watched 
us  too!  I  honestly  believe  she  understood  more  of 
our  conversations  than  we  gave  her  credit  for,  at 
least  she  had  a  good  opportunity  for  picking  up 
English. 

Another  prisoner,  Bert  Gilbert,  of  London,  joined 
our  group  shortly  after  my  arrival  at  Illeben.  Gil- 
bert had  enlisted  at  the  outbreak  of  the  war  for  a 
period  of  seven  years.  He  was  then  only  nineteen. 
During  the  first  week  of  fighting,  during  the  retreat 


122       Behind  the  German  Lines 

from  Mons,  he  had  been  captured.  Having  been  a 
prisoner  for  four  years,  his  experience,  or  what  Uttle 
of  it  he  would  tell,  is  typical  of  the  sufferings  of 
prisoners  taken  in  the  early  part  of  the  war, 

"Why,  boy!"  he  often  said  to  me  when  I  was  com- 
plaining of  something,  *'you  don't  know  when  you're 
well  off.  You  have  suffered  nothing  compared  with 
others  around  you.  The  Germans  you  are  living 
among  are  a  very  docile  race  compared  to  those  back 
in '14."     He  was  right! 

Gilbert  was  wounded  and  neglected,  but  a  skillful 
operation  at  the  last  moment  had  saved  his  life.  Be- 
fore he  had  been  sent  to  the  rear,  he  had  seen  one  of 
his  regiment  crucified  alive  with  bayonets  at  Mons. 
His  first  rations  in  a  prison  camp  had  been  one  dried 
herring  a  day,  the  bones  of  which  were  saved  and 
traded  with  the  Russian  prisoners  for  cigarettes.  For 
punishment  he  had  stood  for  five  hours  at  attention, 
barefooted  in  the  snow,  his  hands  tied  to  a  post  be- 
hind him.  On  his  back  he  bore  marks  of  a  cat-o'-nine- 
tails, received  while  working  in  a  salt  mine.  He  had 
been  in  most  of  the  camps  in  Germany ;  had  done  all 
kinds  of  work ;  had  attempted  to  escape  over  and  over 
again,  only  to  be  caught,  sent  back,  and  punished. 
But  all  this  had  not  broken  his  zeal. 

When  he  came  out  to  us,  he  immediately  became 
the  life  of  the  party — if  a  nightly  gathering  of  prison- 
ers in  the  heart  of  Germany  can  be  called  a  party — 
and  his  wit  and  humor  during  an  evening  were  worth 
the  day's  work. 

Many  were  the  hours  that  we  four  spent  up  in 


Illeben  123 

Turner's  and  Campbell's  room  exchanging  views, 
discussing  the  war,  and  cursing  out  the  Germans. 
Practically  from  the  four  corners  of  the  globe: 
London,  South  Africa,  Australia,  and  Arizona,  we 
were  each  able  to  contribute  stories  of  our  own  coun- 
tries that  not  only  brought  a  laugh,  but  were  heard 
by  the  others  only  to  be  credited  as  fiction.  From 
those  long  visits  I  felt  that  I  had  learned  enough  to 
find  my  way  around  London,  or  to  converse  with  a 
native  Hottentot  of  Africa,  or  to  start  homesteading 
on  the  plains  of  Australia. 

The  relative  assistance  rendered  by  the  various 
Allied  nations  brought  forth  a  world  of  discussion, 
and  when  we  had  finished,  we  were  no  further  than 
in  the  beginning.  The  Englishmen  joked  me  about 
the  American  conceit,  and  the  foolishness  of  think- 
ing America  would  alone  win  the  war.  Yet  they  all 
conceded  that  the  outcome  would  have  been  uncertain 
and  probably  tragically  deferred,  had  we  not  entered. 

Sunday  was  our  real  recreation  day.  After  Sun- 
day dinner  the  four  of  us  would  go  over  to  a  neighbor- 
ing village  to  visit  two  Englishmen  who  worked  there, 
or  else  Paine  and  Moss  would  come  over  to  Illeben. 
Wherever  we  went,  tea  was  served  the  guests.  On 
the  occasions  that  Paine  and  Moss  acted  as  hosts,  we 
met  on  the  top  of  a  hill  just  outside  of  the  village, 
exchanged  greetings,  and  continued  on  together.  Gil- 
bert always  suggested  stopping  at  the  beer  house  for  a 
couple  of  drinks  before  tea.  The  couple  of  drinks, 
however,  were  merely  beer  and  that  of  a  poor  quality, 
as  hops  and  other  usual  ingredients  were  forbidden 


124       Behind  the  German  Lines 

during  the  war.  Tea  followed,  real  English  tea,  with 
cream  and  sugar,  crackers,  jam,  and  butter.  The 
anticipation  of  packages,  the  latest  war  news  gathered 
from  the  papers  and  rumors,  and  even  the  village 
scandal,  were  discussed.  But  each  weekly  meeting 
broke  up  all  too  early  in  the  afternoon,  tor  we  were 
required  to  return  to  feed  the  cows ! 

On  the  few  occasions  that  Paine  and  Moss  came  to 
Illeben,  either  Turner  and  Campbell  acted  as  hosts,  or 
I  did.  Not  having  a  large  room  of  my  own,  the  bar 
became  our  meeting  place  and  Frau  Hess,  without 
comment,  boiled  the  coffee  for  us  but  I  could  see  the 
idea  displeased  her.  What  few  little  favors  the  Frau 
granted  me  were  well  worth  her  while,  for  she  was  the 
only  woman  in  Illeben  who  had  real  coffee  twice  a 
day. 

At  this  time  m}^  food  parcels  were  coming  from  the 
Red  Cross  regularly  every  ten  days.  As  I  could  not 
boil  the  coffee  myself,  I  turned  it  over  to  the  Frau  and 
she  prepared  and  served  it.  She  was  able  to  make  a 
pound  of  coffee  last  ten  days,  much  to  my  surprise. 
The  rest  of  the  food  I  did  not  share  with  her,  even 
though  we  ate  at  the  same  table.  At  first  this  was 
embarrassing,  but  I  realized  that  I  was  under  no 
obligation  to  her;  that  she  was  my  enemy  and  the 
enemy  of  my  country  and  that  the  packages  were  sent 
by  the  Red  Cross  to  sustain  my  life  as  a  prisoner  of 
war  and  not  to  aid  the  Germans  against  whom  a 
blockade  was  being  maintained.  As  I  opened  a  can 
of  corned  beef,  she  would  look  wistfully  at  it,  but  I 
simply  divided  it  and  put  half  away  for  the  next  meal. 


Illeben  125 

"Taste  good?"  she  would  ask. 

'*/a/  /a/"  was  my  answer,  as  I  began  eating 
without  offering  her  any. 

By  careful  use  the  thirty  pounds  lasted  the  allotted 
ten  days.  On  several  occasions  I  was  able  to  help 
out  the  Englishmen  when  their  food  was  delayed,  and 
they  in  turn  frequently  helped  me. 

On  two  rainy  days  during  the  first  week  in  October, 
we  did  some  threshing.  The  Frau  had  not  enough 
grain  to  require  the  use  of  an  electrical  thresher,  so  it 
became  necessary  to  use  a  small  hand  affair.  The 
baker,  a  neighbor,  and  I  furnished  the  motor  power, 
while  his  wife,  another  woman,  and  the  Frau  fed  the 
machine,  bundled  the  straw,  and  raked  off  the  chaff. 
For  twenty  minutes  at  a  time  we  would  turn  the 
crank  and  then  rest  five  minutes.  During  one  of  our 
rest  periods,  I  heard  the  first  openly  expressed  doubt 
on  the  part  of  the  peasant,  that  Germany  was  not 
going  to  win  the  war. 

The  baker  looked  at  me  and  asked : 

"Germany  is  defeated?" 

"Ja.'"  I  answered,  and  then  came  the  chorus  of 
''  Ja!     Jaf'  from  the  women. 

From  then  on  neither  the  Frau  nor  her  neighbors 
tried  to  put  up  any  bluff  concerning  Germany's 
situation.  They  openly  discussed  affairs  before  me, 
but  unless  directly  addressed,  I  did  not  enter  into  the 
conversations. 

Fresh  meat  was  seldom  served,  but  one  morning 
the  Frau  announced  that  she  was  going  to  kill  a  goat. 
The  butcher's  son,  a  boy  of  sixteen,  did  the  killing 


126        Behind  the  German  Lines 

and  dressing.  That  was  practically  the  first  fresh 
meat  I  had  seen  served  in  Germany,  and  then  the 
Frau  only  served  it  on  Sundays  and  Wednesdays. 

The  next  meat  that  we  had  was  a  month  later, 
from  one  of  the  pigs,  killed  in  November,  after  the 
weather  had  begun  to  be  cold.  The  work  of  killing 
him  and  making  the  meat  into  sausages  took  prac- 
tically the  whole  day.  The  sausage  and  the  sides  of 
bacon  were  delicious  the  few  times  the  Frau  served  it. 
The  sausage  was  packed  in  glass  jars  with  a  layer  of 
lard  over  the  sausage.  The  whole  process  of  killing, 
preparing,  and  curing  the  pork  was  interesting, 
especially  as  nothing  was  wasted. 

The  German  farmer  is  very  economical  in  all  things. 
All  straw  is  saved  and  used  for  bedding  the  animals, 
thus  increasing  the  manure  pile.  The  manure  is  so 
placed  that  a  cistern  is  built  beneath  and  all  water 
saved.  This  water  is  in  turn  pumped  into  huge  bar- 
rels and  sprinkled  on  the  fields.  The  tops  of  beets 
are  spread  over  the  beet  field  and  turned  under  during 
the  plowing.  The  old  potato  vines  are  saved  and 
used  for  cattle  bedding.  Crops  are  rotated  so  that 
no  field  produces  the  same  grain  or  vegetables  two 
years  in  succession. 

Many  of  the  farmers  instead  of  storing  their  beets 
in  a  cellar,  dig  pits  about  two  feet  deep,  in  which  the 
beets  are  heaped,  making  piles  that  rose  four  and  five 
feet  above  the  surface  of  the  ground.  Over  these 
piles  is  placed  straw  or  potato  vines,  and  then  a  layer 
of  earth.  Stored  in  this  manner  the  beets  neither 
rotted  nor  froze. 


Illeben  127 

Herr  Umbriet,  for  whom  Turner  worked,  had  a 
beet  pit  eighty  paces  long.  In  his  avariciousness  the 
old  farmer  had  planted  thirty  acres  of  beets,  planning 
to  sell  them  to  the  government  for  five  marks  the 
hundredweight.  Beets  fell  in  price  to  a  mark  fifty 
the  hundredweight  by  harvest  time  and  his  neighbors 
had  the  laugh  on  him  and  he  had  the  beets  on  his 
hands. 

Peasant  life  in  the  village  was  very  dull  and  com- 
monplace, although  quite  different  in  many  respects 
from  life  in  an  American  farming  district.  The 
German  never  dreamed  of  shortening  his  hours  of 
labor,  nor  did  he  waste  any  time  on  pleasure.  Work, 
prompted  by  the  motive  of  money,  shbn  Geld  as  they 
expressed  it,  rubbing  their  thumbs  and  forefingers 
together,  was  their  sole  ambition;  and  work  they  did, 
steadily,  patiently,  and  untiringly.  Even  the  soldiers 
returning  on  leave  immediately  went  to  work  in  the 
fields,  as  a  matter  of  course. 

Fridays  and  Saturdays  were  baking  days.  The 
peasants  made  their  own  loaves,  huge  ones  about 
two  feet  long,  and  then  took  them  to  the  baker  to  be 
baked.  As  each  loaf  bore  the  owner's  initials,  there 
was  never  a  mixup.  The  baker's  shop,  or  house  and 
shop  combined,  was  across  the  street  from  Frau 
Hess's.  Early  on  Friday  mornings  I  would  be 
awakened  by  the  tinkle  of  the  bell  on  the  shop  door 
as  the  peasants  carried  in  their  bread.  The  tarts, 
which  I  first  tasted  at  Eschenbergen,  were  also  baked 
there.  These  tarts,  although  only  about  half  an  inch 
thick  and  usually  covered  with  sliced  apples  or  plums, 


128       Behind  the  German  Lines 

measured  fully  three  feet  in  diameter.  It  was  a 
common  sight  to  see  girls  taking  them  to  the  baker's 
balanced  on  their  heads,  while  under  each  arm  was 
carried  a  loaf  of  bread. 

The  distrust  that  the  peasants  showed  for  one  an- 
other was  amazing  and  well  founded.  Every  night 
they  locked  their  doors  with  as  much  care  as  if  they 
were  living  in  a  large  city.  Implements  left  in  the 
fields  over  night  were  stripped  of  all  detachable  parts. 
One  evening  I  left  a  plow  scraper  near  the  plow,  and 
the  next  morning  it  was  missing.  Small  articles,  such 
as  pitchforks  or  spades,  if  left  even  during  the  noon 
hour,  had  to  be  camouflaged. 

Nearly  every  evening,  about  seven  o'clock,  the 
town  crier  passed  down  the  street,  ringing  his  bell  and 
announcing  food  prices  or  other  items  of  interest. 
An  unnecessary  proceeding,  it  seemed  to  me,  for 
lUeben,  being  within  two  miles  of  the  railroad,  was 
easily  reached  by  the  papers.  Frau  Hess,  although  I 
believe  she  was  an  exception  to  the  rule,  took  three 
daily  papers ;  those  of  Langensalza,  Gotha,  and  Erfurt. 

At  first  these  papers  held  no  interest  for  me,  being 
printed  in  German  script.  When  I  finally  obtained  a 
dictionary,  I  was  able  to  read  the  headlines  and  the 
communiques.  But  even  those  had  to  be  taken  with 
a  grain  of  salt.  One  item  which  always  amused  me 
was  the  naval  report  of  tonnage  sunk  by  the  sub- 
marines. This  ranged  from  thirty  thousand  to 
fifty  thousand  tons  a  day ! 

Another  page  that  always  caught  my  eye  was 
the  one  which  contained  death  notices  in  the  form 


Illeben  129 

of  large  advertisements,  published  by  the  friends  of 
those  killed  in  action. 

The  town  crier  had  a  rival  in  the  village  night 
watchman.  This  official  began  his  rounds  at  ten, 
ringing  a  bell  also,  and  calling  out:  "All  is  well." 
At  ten,  eleven,  twelve,  and  one  o'clock  he  made  his 
rounds,  going  through  the  same  performance.  Usu- 
ally I  heard  him  make  his  first  round,  then  no  more, 
although  frequently  the  last  round  would  awaken  me 
from  a  sound  sleep.  Just  what  good  that  watchman 
did  was  a  puzzle  to  me  as  the  village  streets  were 
lighted  by  electricity,  although  the  lights  were  turned 
off  at  ten. 

Government  authority  rests  with  a  heavy  hand  on 
the  peasants.  A  certain  percentage  of  the  produce 
from  the  fields  had  to  be  given  to  the  military  and  a 
farmer  was  taxed  in  accordance  with  his  acreage. 
Sufficient  was  allowed  the  people  upon  which  to  live 
and  plenty  for  the  cattle  and  spring  planting ;  the  rest 
went  to  the  army  or  to  the  city. 

Food  hoarding  was  the  common  practice  in  the 
village.  Every  animal — cow,  pig,  goose,  or  goat — was 
registered  and  had  to  be  accounted  for  to  the  bur- 
gomaster. Yet  these  rules  were  evaded.  One  old 
farmer  killed  two  pigs  in  one  week ;  the  first  one  was 
permitted  by  law,  but  in  place  of  weighing  it,  he 
weighed  a  small  one  and  reported  its  weight  and  killed 
a  large  one;  the  second  pig  was  killed  on  the  sly  at 
night,  and  the  burgomaster  not  only  received  a  quar- 
ter of  the  pig  for  his  silence,  but  he  helped  in  the 
killing.     Gilbert  also  was  a  party  to  the  slaughter. 


T30       Behind  the  German  Lines 

Frau  Hess  reported  that  three  of  her  geese  were 
stolen,  while,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  she  sold  them,  boast- 
ing to  me  that  she  had  received  two  hundred  and 
ninety -five  marks  for  them — an  equivalent  of  about 
fifty  dollars. 

Gilbert's  chej,  a  wise  old  man,  realized  that  Ger- 
many would  be  defeated  and  that  the  paper  money  in 
circulation  would  then  decrease  in  value,  so,  to  avoid 
a  loss,  he  bought  as  much  livestock  as  possible,  thus 
getting  value  received  for  his  money  before  the  de- 
preciation. On  one  occasion  he  bought  a  colt,  paying 
as  much  as  seven  thousand  marks  for  it. 

Sugar  was  allowed  only  to  the  peasants  who  raised 
flax  and  then  only  a  small  amount  per  person.  Frau 
Hess  received  a  sugar  ration  for  me,  which,  of  course, 
I  never  even  saw. 

Under  these  conditions,  it  was  no  wonder  that  the 
peasants  were  anxious  for  the  war  to  end  and  their 
husbands  to  return  home.  With  each  week  their 
criticism  became  more  open  and  their  distrust  in  the 
success  of  their  army  increased. 

One  evening  I  was  sitting  in  the  bar  with  the  Eng- 
lishmen. Several  old  men  were  at  a  table  visiting 
over  their  beer  with  the  Frau.  Rudolph,  her  son, 
suddenly  burst  into  the  room  singing  Deutschland 
iiher  Alles  in  his  childish  voice.  As  his  mother 
stopped  him,  one  of  the  old  men  remarked:  *'Yes, 
and  Germany  will  have  no  alHes  shortly!"  The 
same  old  man,  a  few  days  after  the  armistice,  com- 
mented: "For  God,  for  Kaiser,  and  for  Fatherland! 
We  don't  know  if  there  is  a  God,  and  the  Kaiser  has 


llleben  13^ 

run  off  to  Holland,  and  I  think  it  is  rather  hopeless 
trying  to  do  anything  for  the  Fatherland."  • 

In  October  I  began  plowing.  The  baker  acted  as 
my  instructor  for  the  first  lesson  and  then  the  Frau 
took  me  in  hand.  Plowing  with  cows  is  quite  a  differ- 
ent matter  from  using  horses.  They  would  plod 
along,  taking  their  time,  stopping  now  and  then  to 
look  back  in  the  hope  that  I  had  forgotten  them  and 
only  moving  when  the  long  whip  wound  around  their 
legs.  As  the  afternoon  drew  to  a  close,  they  objected 
more  and  more  to  work,  refusing  to  obey  any  verbal 
commands.  With  only  one  rein  it  was  impossible  to 
make  them  follow  the  furrow  once  they  had  decided 
to  do  otherwise.  My  only  other  choice  was  to  un- 
hitch them  and  let  them  go  home.  The  plowing  of 
twenty -five  acres  took  nearly  two  weeks.  Those  two 
cows  led  a  miserable  existence.  When  I  had  taken 
them  back  after  a  day  in  the  fields,  the  Frau  milked 
them.  If  the  cows  did  not  give  enough  milk,  the 
woman  would  fly  into  a  rage  and  beat  them  with  a 
long  club.  Like  beaten  curs  they  would  cringe  into  a 
corner  of  the  cowshed,  so  that  it  was  apparent  her 
cruelty  was  a  habit. 

If  it  were  possible  to  enjoy  life  at  all,  under  the 
circumstances,  I  certainly  enjoyed  those  weeks  in  the 
open  left  to  my  own  thoughts  and  the  memory  of 
better  days. 

Often  I  would  pass  Turner  as  I  returned  from  the 
fields.  My  appearance  afforded  him  many  a  good 
laugh  as  I  sat  on  the  side  of  the  old  farm  wagon,  yell- 
ing commands  to  the  cows.     One  look  in  the  mirror 


13^        Behind  the  German  Lines 

would  explain  his  mirth.  My  hair  was  over  my  ears 
and  so  long  that  my  fatigue  cap  would  barely  stay  on 
the  back  of  my  head.  The  old  suit  that  Turner  had 
given  me  bore  the  traces  of  two  years'  wear,  while  the 
red  bandana  handkerchief  around  my  neck  added  to 
my  picturesque  appearance.  My  trousers  were 
tucked  into  a  pair  of  German  army  boots,  size  eleven, 
which  were  out  of  all  proportion.  Those  boots  were 
useless.  A  huge  hole  in  the  toe  admitted  quantities 
of  dirt,  and  the  two  pieces  of  cloth — a  German  issue 
for  socks — were  worse  than  nothing  at  all.  I  might 
as  well  have  been  barefooted.  When  my  shoes  had 
worn  out,  the  Frau  had  written  into  camp  for  another 
pair,  sending  in  the  old  ones  as  was  required.  But 
the  new  ones  never  arrived,  or  at  least  I  never  saw 
them.  My  suspicions  were  that  they  were  received, 
but  the  Frau  kept  them  for  her  husband. 

I  was  sadly  in  need  of  clothes.  The  first  Red  Cross 
box  forwarded  to  me  from  Nuremberg,  where  I  was 
reported  to  have  been  sent,  and  which  did  not  reach 
me  till  October  in  Illeben,  contained  a  shirt,  a  suit  of 
woolen  underwear,  some  socks,  and  a  few  toilet  ar- 
ticles. Those  insured  a  weekly  change  and  kept  me 
warm  as  the  autumn  advanced.  Had  not  Turner 
and  Campbell,  as  I  have  said,  furnished  me  with  an 
extra  suit  for  working,  and  an  old  pair  of  shoes,  I 
would  have  been  in  a  sad  condition. 

A  German  woman  commented  to  Gilbert  on  the 
slovenly  condition  of  the  American,  meaning  me. 
When  he  replied  that  I  had  nothing  more  than  what 
I  wore  when  captured,  that  the  German  government 


Illeben  133 

gave  nothing  to  the  prisoners,  she  apologized  for  her 
remark,  saying  that  she  did  not  know  that. 

Our  clothes  may  not  have  been  up  to  the  military 
standard,  but  our  conduct  in  the  village,  our  tales  of 
our  home  countries,  concerning  both  our  democracy 
and  prosperity,  gave  the  peasants  the  impression  that 
England  and  America  were  countries  which  de- 
manded their  consideration. 

Frau  Hess,  shortly  after  my  arrival,  expressed  her 
thoughts  concisely  when  she  remarked:  "Ach! 
America  is  a  land  of  swine  and  manure ! ' '  Yet  the 
day  after  the  armistice,  she  referred  to  America  as 
''the  Great  Sister  Republic!" 

Frau  Hess  was  a  good  German  peasant.  She 
obeyed  the  mandates  of  her  state  and  believed  all 
that  appeared  in  the  papers.  I  say  that  she  was  a 
good  German  peasant:  she  was,  according  to  the 
German  standards.  There  her  goodness  ended. 
What  kindness  she  showed  me  was  merely  a  matter  of 
policy — that  I  understood  clearly — and  I  was  on  my 
guard  not  to  permit  her  to  get  the  upper  hand  or  to 
place  myself  in  any  way  under  obligation  to  her,  lest 
she  take  advantage  of  the  situation.  At  first  she 
offered  to  pay  me  twenty  marks  a  month,  which  I 
refused,  asking  only  the  seven  that  she  was  required 
to  pay.  At  the  same  time  she  would  steal  my  soap 
and  ask  me  for  Red  Cross  food.  In  place  of  accusing 
her  of  stealing  the  soap,  which  I  knew  she  would 
deny,  I  told  Gilbert  and  he  told  a  servant  in  the 
household  for  which  he  worked,  so  that  the  story 
came  back  to  her  from  other  sources  in  the  village. 


134       Behind  the  German  Lines 

Her  attitude  was  not  submissive  by  any  means,  yet 
in  a  way  she  catered  to  me.  On  one  occasion  her 
niece  lost  her  temper  and  began  heaping  harmless 
German  curses  on  my  head.  In  the  midst  of  the  row, 
the  Frau  walked  into  the  room  and  demanded  an 
explanation.  To  my  great  surprise  she  made  the 
girl  apologize.  Later,  the  Frau  stated  to  me  that  a 
girl  should  never  swear.  Whether  that  was  the  cause 
or  not,  Paula  soon  left  the  place. 

One  misty  morning,  late  in  October,  in  place  of  the 
usual  work,  the  Frau  told  me  to  clean  up,  that  we 
were  going  to  take  the  flax  to  a  mill  in  a  distant  vil- 
lage.    I  shaved  and  got  into  my  old  khaki  uniform. 

The  trip  was  a  change  and  a  bit  of  a  holiday  for  me. 
Each  of  us  carried  to  the  station  on  our  shoulders  a 
fifty-pound  sack  of  flaxseed,  she  placing  hers  in  a 
basket  which  was  strapped  to  her.  That  was  the 
manner  in  which  all  peasant  women  carried  their 
bundles  and  their  vegetables  to  the  market.  I  should 
judge  that  many  carried  as  much  as  a  hundred  pounds. 

On  the  train  from  Eckartslaben  to  Gotha,  where 
we  changed  trains,  I  had  a  long  chat  with  a  French- 
man who  was  on  his  way  to  a  new  Kommando.  He 
gave  me  what  little  news  there  was  from  the  camp  at 
Langensalza.  While  waiting  in  the  station  at  Gotha 
a  German  came  up  to  me. 

"You  are  English?"  he  asked  in  broken  English. 

"No,  American,"  I  answered. 

"So?  Well,  you  will  be  going  home  in  a  few 
months — the  war  will  not  last  much  longer  now." 

"Why  do  you  think  that?"  I  asked. 


Illeben  135 

"  Oh !  I  know  it,  Germany  is  beaten.  We  have  no 
food — we  cannot  continue  the  war  without  food. 
When  it  is  over  I  am  going  to  England  or  to  Amer- 
ica," he  said. 

"Are  you?  Well,  England  has  passed  a  law  for- 
bidding Germans  to  enter  the  country,  and  the 
Americans  will  probably  do  the  same,  for  they  will 
not  soon  forget  what  the  Germans  have  done  in  the 
war,"  I  replied. 

"Well,  we  will  see."  He  shrugged  his  shoulders 
and  walked  away. 

At  Lambach,  our  destination,  we  went  immediately 
to  the  mill.  The  miller's  wife  asked  the  Frau  to  have 
coffee  with  her.  It  was  in  the  early  afternoon.  As 
for  me,  she  was  in  doubt,  but  she  finally  included  me 
in  the  invitation.  The  next  half  hour  I  would  not 
have  missed  for  considerable.  I,  a  prisoner,  sitting 
there  in  a  prim  little  German  sitting  room,  balancing 
a  teacup,  while  I  kept  out  of  the  conversation  as 
much  as  possible,  answering  in  my  broken  German 
only  when  spoken  to,  was  amusing  to  say  the  least. 

With  a  jug  of  flaxseed  oil,  we  started  home — that 
is,  back  to  Illeben — in  the  early  afternoon.  Every 
time  we  changed  coaches,  going  and  coming,  and  we 
changed  twice  both  ways,  the  talk  among  the  passen- 
gers eventually  turned  to  me,  and  the  Frau  took  great 
delight  in  relating  my  history,  repeating  all  I  had  told 
her  of  the  war  and  America.  She  told  her  story  six 
times  that  day,  and  each  time  I  was  looked  over  by 
the  whole  car  as  if  I  were  a  new  breed  of  animal,  in 
place  of  a  common  Gefangener,     Pretending  that  I 


136       Behind  the  German  Lines 

understood  nothing,  I  looked  out  of  the  window. 
Only  once  did  I  join  in  the  conversation  and  that 
was  when  a  young  girl  said  that  America  was  a 
good  country  for  her  brother  was  living  there,  but 
that  she  feared  he  might  have  been  thrown  into  pris- 
on as  she  had  not  heard  from  him  since  the  war  began. 

"Where  does  your  brother  live?"  I  asked. 

"In  Akron,  Ohio,"  she  answered.  I  then  told  her 
that  there  was  no  need  to  worry  over  him,  that  as 
long  as  he  behaved  himself  he  would  not  get  into 
trouble. 

During  the  last  part  of  our  journey  a  German  sailor, 
a  huge  fellow,  wearing  several  decorations,  harangued 
the  peasants  in  the  car.  From  the  few  words  that  I 
could  understand,  it  was  plain  that  he  was  talking 
sedition,  urging  a  revolt,  if  necessary.  With  his 
broad  hands  he  gesticulated  and  his  deep  powerful 
voice  held  the  attention  of  the  passengers.  From 
what  he  said  I  gathered  all  was  not  well  with  the 
German  navy,  and  the  men  realized  it.  As  events 
developed  later,  this  sailor  was  but  one  of  the  many 
participating  in  the  revolt  at  Kiel. 

November  began  my  sixth  month  as  a  prisoner. 
The  weather  was  getting  raw  and  the  cold  bit  my 
fingers  as  I  worked  in  the  fields  or  in  the  garden.  I 
had  finished  planting  the  early  grain,  but  there  still 
remained  more  plowing.  The  Frau  had  been  urging 
me  to  finish  that  before  the  ground  became  frozen 
and  snow  set  in.  Rumors  of  Allied  victories,  German 
retreats,  and  a  general  advance  of  our  lines,  had  been 
numerous.     The  peasants  talked  more  openly  of  a 


Illeben  137 

probable  German  defeat.  A  shepherd,  one  afternoon 
during  that  first  week  in  November,  told  me  that  the 
war  would  be  over  in  a  month.  At  the  time  I  laughed 
at  him,  firmly  believing  that  two  or  three  months 
would  pass  before  the  Kaiser  would  surrender.  I  did 
not  for  a  minute  think  that  the  Kaiser  would  abdicate. 

The  evening  of  November  loth,  I  retired  early. 
Long  after  midnight  visitors  lingered  in  the  bar  and 
I  could  hear  their  voices  raised  in  discussion.  Little 
did  I  realize  that  a  rumor  had  reached  the  village  of 
the  news  I  was  to  hear  the  next  morning  five  hours 
before  the  signing  of  the  armistice. 

When  I  sat  down  to  coffee  the  next  morning,  the 
Frau  told  me  what  we  had  been  waiting  so  long  to 
hear. 

''The  war  is  finished!"  she  exclaimed,  "and  my 
man  will  soon  be  coming  home."  I  could  hardly 
believe  my  ears.  In  answer  to  my  question,  she 
continued:  ''  Ja!  The  Kaiser  has  abdicated.  King 
George  of  England  has  abdicated  and  President 
Poincare  and  President  Wilson  have  both  been 
assassinated." 

"That  is  a  lie!"  I  answered,  believing  nothing  that 
she  had  told  me.  Not  until  the  Langensalza  paper 
arrived,  did  I  fully  realize  that  she  had  spoken  the 
truth  in  part. 

"The  war  is  over!"  that  one  sentence  rang  in  my 
ears  all  the  day  like  some  song  I  had  only  dreamed  of 
hearing.  The  actuality  was  too  good  to  comprehend. 
The  long  looked  for,  the  long  hoped  for,  the  long 
prayed  for  end  had  finally  come.     No  soldier  in  the 


138       Behind  the  German  Lines 

trenches  and  no  home  in  the  rear  received  that  news 
with  greater  thanksgiving  than  did  the  Alhed  prisoners 
in  Germany. 

When  I  met  the  EngHshmen  that  evening,  each  of 
us  could  hardly  contain  our  ecstacy,  as  we  rejoiced 
triumphantly. 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  that  it  was  coming,  boy?  But 
it  came  sooner  than  any  of  us  expected,"  laughed 
Gilbert. 

The  next  evening  an  English-speaking  German 
sergeant  came  from  camp,  principally  to  get  food 
from  the  farmers,  and  incidentally  to  tell  us  that 
he  would  keep  us  informed  as  to  the  departure  of 
prisoners. 

*'  I  win  let  you  know  in  time  and  take  you  back  to 
camp,  so  you  will  leave  with  the  first  convoy.  And 
I  know  that  you  will  not  forget  me  if  I  treat  you 
right,"  he  hinted,  meaning  that  he  expected  compen- 
sation from  us  either  in  the  form  of  clothing  or  of  food. 
We  all  assented. 

The  following  days  passed  all  too  slowly.  We 
believed  that  we  would  be  called  into  the  camp  within 
ten  days,  but  as  the  days  passed  into  a  week  and  then 
into  two  weeks,  we  began  to  have  our  doubts  and 
became  restless.  Our  work  had  suddenly  become 
irksome  and  we  lived  only  in  the  thoughts  of  getting 
home  and  that  as  soon  as  possible.  When  the  ser- 
geant came  again  to  the  village  with  no  news  and  a 
few  more  promises,  we  were  disgusted  with  the  out- 
look for  the  immediate  future.  That  was  Sunday 
afternoon,  the  twenty-fourth  of  November.     Paine 


Illeben  139 

and  Moss  were  over  from  the  neighboring  village. 
As  we  sat  around  the  beer  house,  we  decided  to  walk 
into  camp  the  next  morning  to  see  exactly  how  things 
were  and  to  get  some  food.  We  fully  intended  to 
return,  believing  that  we  would  be  better  off  on  the 
farm  than  waiting  in  the  dirty  Lager  until  the  prison- 
ers were  sent  across  the  line. 

Our  German  sergeant  accompanied  us  the  next 
morning  as  far  as  the  prison  gate,  where  the  five  of 
us  filed  in  past  the  guard. 

My  first  thought  was  to  get  any  mail  that  had 
possibly  collected  in  my  absence,  for  I  had  had  none 
since  that  first  letter  from  home,  received  in  Septem- 
ber. To  my  great  delight,  some  forty  letters  were 
awaiting  me,  together  with  money  sent  by  friends  in 
Paris. 

On  looking  up  Lock  wood,  I  found  that  he  had  been 
made  the  representative  of  the  American  Red  Cross 
at  Langensalza.  It  was  he  who  had  been  forwarding 
the  food  boxes  to  me  so  regularly  and  who  had  been 
painting  out  all  written  matter  on  the  outside  of  the 
boxes  in  the  hope  that  there  would  be  less  chance  of 
their  being  stolen.  In  all  the  time  that  I  had  been 
on  the  farm,  none  of  my  boxes  had  been  tampered 
with,  or  stolen.  This  was  surprising  especially  after 
what  I  had  heard  of  the  losses  of  English  food  parcels. 
Our  American  food  had  come  in  a  sealed  car  from 
Berne,  had  been  opened  in  front  of  Lockwood  and  a 
German  officer  and  had  then  been  moved  to  the 
French  committee  barrack,  which  was  always  under 
guard.      Lockwood  performed  his   duties  conscien- 


HO       Behind  the  German  Lines 

tiously  and  faithfully,  treating  all  American  pris- 
oners alike,  with  the  exception  of  those  who  were  in 
the  hospital,  and  they  required  an  extra  ration. 

When  I  went  up  to  the  prisoners'  barracks,  an 
English  roll  call  of  the  old  prisoners  was  in  progress. 
Gilbert  came  immediately  to  where  I  was  standing. 

"When  they  call  Paine's  name,  24th  Royal  Fusil- 
iers, will  you  answer  for  him  as  he  did  not  come  with 
us,  and  if  he  fails  to  answer  this  he  may  miss  out  on 
the  first  convoy."  I  agreed  and  we  mingled  in  the 
crowd.  In  a  few  minutes  I  sang  out  "Here!"  in 
answer  to  Paine's  name.  An  Irishman  standing  near 
looked  me  over  and  then  remarked : 

"You  ain't  English;  what  you  trying  to  get  away 
with,  Yank?"     My  explanation  satisfied  him. 

We  were  not  the  only  prisoners  who  had  become 
worried  over  the  delay.  The  camp  was  full  of  men 
who  had  left  their  jobs  and  returned  to  camp  in  the 
hope  of  getting  an  early  convoy. 

The  return  to  camp  was  a  pleasure,  for  our  old 
friends  were  there  with  their  experiences  to  relate. 
With  the  signing  of  the  armistice,  practically  all  the 
rules  and  details  had  been  abolished.  We  from 
Illeben  talked  the  situation  over  and  decided  it  was 
better  to  remain  in  camp  until  repatriation.  We 
had  done  enough  farming.  When  the  German  ser- 
geant returned  to  accompany  us  past  the  guard  at 
the  gate,  we  told  him,  as  we  left  for  Illeben,  of  our 
decision  and  he  agreed  to  go  out  to  the  village  for  us 
that  evening. 

An  American  and  an  EngHshman  in  camp  accom- 


Illeben  141 

panied  us  back  to  the  village  to  help  us  carry  our 
packs.  Just  after  leaving  the  Lager,  we  met  a  Ger- 
man officer  who  stopped  us  and  demanded  where  we 
were  going.  Seven  prisoners,  walking  alone  in  the 
country,  must  have  aroused  his  suspicions.  We 
explained  that  we  were  returning  to  our  Kommandos. 
He  motioned  to  us  to  proceed. 

Frau  Hess  gave  me  a  questioning  look  as  I  entered 
the  door. 

"No  more  work  for  me,  I  am  going  back  to  camp 
to-night,"  I  said,  as  I  began  to  pick  up  some  of  my 
things  that  were  lying  in  the  hall. 

Immediately  she  went  to  her  room  and  after  a 
moment's  absence,  hurriedly  returned  and  handed 
me  seven  marks — my  pay. 

"Go,  and  go  quickly!"  she  ordered. 

I  could  not  help  laughing.  So  that  was  the  man- 
ner in  which  she  intended  to  dismiss  me  after  my  two 
months'  service.  But  I  was  not  to  be  dismissed  so 
promptly,  for  we  had  all  planned  to  have  supper  that 
evening  in  her  barroom,  and  I  wished  to  delay  mat- 
ters for  a  time  so  that  Gilbert,  whose  German  was 
better  than  mine,  could  come  over  and  explain.  The 
Frau  changed  her  attitude  when  he  went  into  details, 
stating  that  if  she  would  boil  the  coffee  she  could 
have  what  was  left  from  the  pound  which  we  gave  her. 
There  were  to  be  nine  of  us  and  that  included  the 
German  sergeant. 

Our  farewell  meal  was  one  that  will  be  long  remem- 
bered, both  by  the  Frau  and  ourselves.  The  coffee, 
together  with  our  canned  goods,  consisting  of  beef. 


14^        Behind  the  German  Lines 

sardines,  cheese,  jam,  and  hard-tack,  was  a  feast  in- 
deed. The  Httle  German  bar  rang  with  our  merry 
laughter  and  our  EngHsh  drowned  the  conversation 
between  the  sergeant  and  the  Frau.  We  drank  to 
each  other's  health  in  the  tasteless  German  beer,  and 
then  to  the  health  of  our  countries.  We  regarded 
ourselves  no  longer  as  prisoners,  although  the  Frau 
probably  still  looked  upon  us  as  Schweine  that  had  to 
be  tolerated. 

As  I  was  strapping  on  my  pack,  the  Frau  came  up 
to  me  for  a  few  parting  words.  She  asked  me  to  send 
her  some  shoes,  coffee,  and  sardines,  and  also  to  write 
her  and  send  her  my  picture,  all  of  which  I  said  I 
would  do,  believing  that  it  was  better  to  leave  her  in 
a  good  humor.  Her  presumption  was  amusing.  I 
wondered  if  she  thought  I  was  so  impressed  with  her 
household  that  I  would  continue  her  acquaintance. 

"My  farming  days  are  over,  thank  God!  and  now 
we  are  going  back  to  Blighty,"  remarked  one  of  the 
Englishmen,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  as  we  stepped  into 
the  street.  ''Blighty,"  as  these  men  spoke  of  Eng- 
land, had  been  uppermost  in  their  minds  for  many 
months,  as  America  had  been  in  mine.  To  be  going 
back  to  that  which  we  had  dreamed  of  during  the 
long  months,  back  to  our  friends  and  home  and  coun- 
try, sent  a  thrill  oi  excitement  through  me.  Our 
departure  had  come  so  suddenly  that  I  did  not  real- 
ize the  full  importance  of  it  until  we  were  hiking  back 
to  camp  that  night,  sweating  under  our  packs,  as  we 
shifted  them  from  shoulder  to  shoulder. 


CHAPTER  VII 

LANGENSALZA 

Our  guard  saw  us  past  the  sentry  at  the  gate  and 
nodded  a  short  good-night.  We  turned  toward  the 
English  barrack  to  find  our  quarters.  It  was  nearly 
midnight  and  the  camp  was  quiet.  The  lights  along 
the  high  barbed  wire  fence  marked  the  outer  limits 
of  the  camp.  Now  and  then  a  guard,  like  a  somber 
shadow  with  his  heavy  field  coat  and  helmet  blurring 
his  features,  passed  under  a  street  Hght.  For  an 
instant  his  bayonet  flashed  in  the  light  and  his  clumsy 
boots  resounded  on  the  gravel. 

As  all  the  bunks  were  occupied  an  American  offered 
to  share  his  narrow  space  with  me.  His  bunk  was  so 
narrow  that  once  settled  for  the  night  under  his  blan- 
kets and  our  overcoats  we  were  forced  to  lie  in  one 
position.  I  looked  back  rather  longingly  to  my 
feather  bed  at  Illeben  as  the  hard  boards  made  my 
bones  ache;  but,  then,  I  was  happy. 

The  prisoners  refused  to  do  any  more  work  after 
the  signing  of  the  armistice  so  that  there  were  prac- 
tically no  more  details  except  those  necessary  for 
cleaning  the  camp,  and  it  was  not  always  that  such 
details  could  be  obtained.     Only  the  persistency  of 

143 


144        Behind  the  German  Lines 

the  English  sergeant-major,  and  the  sense  of  duty  on 
the  part  of  a  few,  kept  the  camp  from  becoming 
unsanitary.  Once  the  condition  of  the  prison  was 
neglected  for  a  few  days  the  chances  became  great 
that  a  plague  or  disease  might  break  out.  Influenza 
did  in  fact  pass  through  the  Lager  but  its  prevalence 
was  small  in  comparison  to  the  number  of  men  in 
camp.  As  it  was,  a  funeral  took  place  nearly  every 
afternoon. 

I  was  fortunate  enough  to  be  invited  to  join  a  party 
of  Frenchmen  and  Americans  who  were  messing 
together.  One  of  the  Frenchmen,  who  had  run  a 
restaurant  in  civilian  life,  did  the  cooking  while  we 
all  took  turns  in  acting  as  the  kitchen  police.  As  a 
great  part  of  the  American  food  consisted  of  meat 
while  the  French  food  was  largely  vegetable,  we  could, 
by  combining,  arrive  at  a  happy  medium,  and  at  the 
same  time  help  the  French  who  were  running  rather 
short  of  supplies.  Moreover  we  were  able  to  buy 
potatoes  and  cabbage  from  the  Russians  who  had  as 
a  matter  of  fact  stolen  them  from  the  Germans. 
Monsieur  Ponthieux  served  us  delicious  meals  con- 
sidering that  he  did  all  of  his  cooking  over  a  little 
portable  tin  stove. 

It  was  quite  a  sight  to  see  three  or  four  hundred 
prisoners  preparing  their  meals  over  these  improvised 
stoves.  Before  the  armistice  half  an  hour  twice  a 
day,  noon  and  night,  was  only  allowed  for  the  cooking. 
If  a  prisoner  had  not  finished  in  that  time  the  guard 
had  a  habit  of  coming  up  unexpectedly  and  with  a 
ferocious  kick  upsetting  the  stove  and  meal.     When 


Langensalza  i45 

I  arrived  in  camp  from  Illeben,  however,  the  men 
were  cooking  at  all  hours. 

Our  breakfast  consisted  of  coffee  and  bread;  the 
noon  and  evening  meals  consisted  of  two  or  three 
courses.  The  Frenchmen  had  made  a  small  folding 
table  and  a  few  empty  boxes  served  as  chairs,  so  that  in 
a  crude  way  we  were  doing  light  housekeeping.  The 
noon  hour  in  the  French  barracks  presented  an  imita- 
tion of  a  huge  restaurant  such  as  is  common  in  Paris. 
The  small  tables,  seating  three  or  four  men,  were 
crowded  together,  leaving  only  narrow  aisles.  The 
men  lingered  over  their  coffee  and  cigarettes,  chat- 
ting gayly  and  apparently  unmindful  of  their  circum- 
stances or  the  inconveniences  of  prison  life. 

The  French  barracks  also  boasted  of  two  barber 
shops  where  two  enterprising  young  soldiers  con- 
tinued their  civilian  occupations  to  the  great  con- 
venience of  the  other  prisoners,  charging  only  half  a 
mark  for  either  a  shave  or  a  hair  cut. 

Two  days  after  arriving  in  the  camp  occurred  the 
most  appalling  and  pitiless  example  of  the  German 
treatment  of  prisoners  that  I  had  seen.  There  is  not 
a  Frenchman,  Englishman,  or  American  who  has 
heard  of  the  tragic  event  at  the  camp  of  Langensalza, 
Saxony,  without  just  anger  and  indignation.  Here 
fifteen  prisoners.  Allied  soldiers — French  for  the  most 
part — were  massacred  a  few  days  before  they  were 
to  be  released  by  their  German  keepers.  The  crime 
was  committed  November  27,  191 8,  sixteen  days 
after  the  signing  of  the  armistice,  which,  in  assur- 
ing a  suspension  of  hostilities   was  to  give   to   the 


146       Behind  the  German  Lines 

civilized  world  the  hope  that  the  spilling  of  blood 
had  ended. 

Ot  all  the  German  prisons,  the  prison  camp  at 
Langensalza  was  the  most  celebrated  by  reason  ot 
having  been,  in  191 5,  the  seat  ot  one  of  the  most 
violent  epidemics  of  typhus,  which  exacted  an  awful 
toll  among  the  unfortunate  Allied  soldiers,  captives 
in  Germany. 

At  the  beginning  of  November,  191 8,  there  were  in 
the  vicinity  of  Langensalza  about  thirty  thousand 
prisoners  of  the  different  nations  of  the  Entente, 
among  whom  nearly  twelve  thousand  were  French. 
Of  the  total  only  about  two  thousand  men  were  ac- 
tually interned,  being  located  in  wooden  barracks; 
the  rest  were  distributed  on  the  farms,  in  the  factories, 
and  in  the  mines  of  the  surrounding  district,  working 
usually  in  groups,  named  Kommandos,  under  the 
surveillance  of  a  detachment  of  Landstiirm.  When 
the  news  of  the  armistice  spread,  the  prisoners  who 
worked  on  the  Kommandos,  fearing  lest  they  be  for- 
gotten in  the  repatriation  for  which  they  had  so  long 
hoped,  returned  in  haste  to  camp.  Many  of  them 
were  sent  back  to  their  work  with  the  assurance  that 
they  would  not  be  forgotten.  A  certain  number  nev- 
ertheless remained  in  camp,  so  that  there  were  about 
four  thousand  prisoners  there  on  November  27th. 

To  accommodate  that  large  number  it  was  neces- 
sary to  make  arrangements  for  new  quarters  in 
barracks  designed  to  hold  only  half  of  that  number. 
That  was  why  the  French  soldier,  Tocque,  of  the 
351st  Infantry,  a  prisoner  for  two  years,  and  secretary 


Langensalza  H7 

of  the  bureau  of  the  5th  Kompagnie  (of  prisoners), 
received  orders  from  the  commander  of  the  camp  to 
prepare  the  old  canvas  and  wooden  barracks  which 
up  to  that  time  had  served  as  a  theater,  for  the  hous- 
ing of  seven  hundred  prisoners  arriving  that  day  from 
their  Kommandos. 

These  barracks,  pompously  called  a  theater  by 
the  prisoners  who  had  given  plays  therein  as  a 
distraction  during  the  monotonous  hours  of  their 
captivity,  consisted  of  three  long  adjoining  structures 
built  in  the  form  of  tents,  roofed  with  boards  and 
having  a  floor.  When  the  soldier  Tocque  went  there 
an  hour  before  noonday  to  carry  out  his  orders,  he 
found  on  the  inside  of  the  barracks  a  certain  number 
of  prisoners,  French,  English,  Italians,  and  Russians, 
occupied  in  tearing  down  the  scenery  of  the  theater 
and  the  small  dressing-rooms  that  had  served  their 
purpose  for  the  actors;  that  scenery  and  those 
dressing-rooms  had  been  constructed  by  the  prisoners 
themselves  with  planks  bought  with  the  receipts  from 
the  theater.  Being  no  longer  used,  some  of  the  pris- 
oners had  received  permission  from  the  commander 
of  the  camp  to  take  this  wood,  which  belonged  to 
them,  to  use  for  heating  purposes.  Winter  had  come 
and  it  is  severe  in  that  region.  The  unfortunates, 
profiting  by  the  permission  given  them,  had  begun  to 
remove  their  firewood.  Some  had  left  already,  carry- 
ing cross  beams  and  broken  laths ;  and  others,  under 
the  amused  eyes  of  the  German  soldiers  guarding 
them,  began  to  tear  to  pieces  the  floor  and  the  sides. 

Witnesses  affirm  that  the  Germans  themselves  par- 


148        Behind  the  German  Lines 

ticipated  in  the  demolition  already  commenced  and 
took  their  share  of  the  wood  thus  torn  down.  Seeing 
this,  the  soldier  Tocque  intervened,  asking  his  com- 
rades to  carry  away  only  the  material  from  the 
scenery  and  the  dressing-rooms,  insisting  on  the 
necessity  of  leaving  the  rest  in  the  barracks,  as  it 
was  to  be  occupied  by  seven  hundred  men  arriving 
that  day.  Unable  to  make  them  all  hear,  Tocque 
went  to  the  nearest  post  of  the  guard  and  asked 
that  a  sentinel  be  placed  at  each  door  of  the  old 
theater  so  as  to  intercept  the  prisoners.  It  was 
then  about  one- thirty  in  the  afternoon.  Up  to 
that  time  the  life  of  the  camp  was  in  every  way 
normal,  without  the  slightest  indication  that  the 
inherent  cruelty  of  the  Germans  was  soon  to  degen- 
erate into  a  bloody  massacre. 

Tocque  waited  ten  minutes  after  having  asked  for 
the  sentinels.  It  is  likely,  on  account  of  the  gravity 
of  what  followed,  that  the  under  officer  of  the  guard 
telephoned  to  the  commander  of  the  camp  and 
solicited  orders.  It  will  now  be  seen,  after  having 
had  the  testimony  of  witnesses,  what  was  then  re- 
solved upon  by  the  commander,  and  what  turn  he 
decided  to  give  to  the  incident. 

At  the  post  of  the  guard  the  German  soldiers 
talked  it  over  among  themselves.  Two  Frenchmen 
who  were  present  overheard  them  say:  **A  patrol  is 
not  sufficient;  a  patrol  would  do  no  good  there!" 
To  which  the  chief  of  the  post  responded,  *' Yes,  yes, 
not  a  patrol,  but  a  battalion,  and  good  shooting!" — 
"  Und  richtig  schiessen.'' 


Langensalza  i49 

It  was  then  that  the  bugler  of  the  guard,  by 
order  of  the  under  officer,  chief  of  the  post,  blew  the 
alarm  twice.  A  \\dtness  related  that  the  bugler  ap- 
peared to  hesitate  before  blowing  as  if  he  realized 
what  was  to  follow.  These  facts  force  the  con- 
clusion that  from  that  moment  the  Germans  fore- 
saw and  prepared  for  an  armed  assault  on  the 
camp. 

That  bugle  call,  which  some  of  the  prisoners  did  not 
even  hear,  could  not  be  distinguished  from  other 
numerous  calls  which  were  given  in  the  camp  at  that 
hour  for  the  assembling  of  certain  details,  and  thus 
they  did  not  grasp  its  full  warning.  In  one  part  of 
the  camp,  near  the  theater,  a  game  of  football  was  in 
progress.  This  was  not  even  interrupted.  Every- 
one continued  to  pursue  his  accustomed  occupation; 
some  were  going  to  the  hospital,  others  to  the  tailor 
shop,  and  still  others  of  the  relief  committees  were 
distributing  food  to  their  comrades.  The  rest  were 
wandering  around  camp  inoffensively,  or  were  quiet 
spectators  of  the  football  match. 

Ten  minutes  passed  after  the  sounding  of  the  alarm 
before  the  first  troop  of  the  Germans — five  or  six — 
arrived  on  the  run,  led  by  an  under  officer,  Kraiiss, 
coming  from  the  north  along  a  corduroy  road.  At 
the  same  moment  another  troop  of  as  many  as  fifty 
men,  led  by  a  Feldwehel  with  revolver  in  hand,  came 
running  along  a  brick  walk  which  led  from  the  com- 
mander's office  to  the  southeast,  and  began  to  deploy 
on  the  walk,  pushing  back  the  prisoners  who  ob- 
structed the  passage;  behind  this  body  of  men  came 


150        Behind  the  German  Lines 

Captain  Koch,  who  commanded  a  company  of  Land- 
sturm  stationed  at  the  camp,  very  excited. 

Without  demanding  either  by  word  or  by  bugle 
that  the  crowd  of  prisoners  disperse,  without  ordering 
the  theater  to  be  evacuated,  in  fact  without  any  warn- 
ing whatsoever,  the  Feldwebel  fired  twice  with  his 
revolver.  Immediately  rifle  fire  broke  forth  and  the 
crowd  was  caught  by  the  cross  fire  of  the  two  German 
groups. 

The  firing  lasted  two  minutes!  The  dead  were 
strewn  on  the  football  field  and  in  front  of  the  theater 
where  they  had  fallen.  Great  excitement  followed 
among  the  helpless  prisoners  present  while  those  in 
the  distant  parts  of  the  camp  did  not  know  what  had 
happenea.  One  prisoner  raised  a  wounded  comrade 
wishing  to  take  him  to  the  hospital,  whereupon  a 
soldier  of  the  Landsturm  ran  his  bayonet  through 
the  dying  man,  forcing  his  comrade  to  flee.  Two 
witnesses  saw  that  Tocque  attempted  to  interfere 
but  was  brutally  struck  with  the  butt  of  a  rifle. 

As  the  shooting  stopped,  some  prisoners  were 
aiding  their  wounded  friends  when  they  were  charged 
by  the  young  German  recruits,  who  finally  left  only  a 
bloody  heap  on  the  ground.  Those  who  had  re- 
mained in  the  committee  barracks  adjoining  the 
theater  were  driven  out  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet. 
A  witness  heard  a  German  soldier  exclaim  with  a 
laugh,  "I  did  some  good  shooting!" 

Many  prisoners — among  them  Chief  Adjutant 
Lambert  and  Sergeants  Robert,  Rolland,  and  Bajol — 
ran  into  the  crowd  vainly  trying  to  speak.     Finally 


Langensalza  151 

Captain  Koch  authorized  the  adjutant  and  a  cor- 
poral to  go  to  the  commander  and  make  an  explana- 
tion. It  was  high  time!  On  the  ground  lay  fifteen 
dead — nine  Frenchmen,  three  Englishmen,  two  Ital- 
ians, and  a  Russian,  and  thirteen  wounded.  Bodies 
of  the  dead  were  picked  up  on  the  football  field,  in 
front  of  the  theater,  on  the  walks,  and  even  in  the 
barracks  of  the  relief  committee.  To-day  they  sleep 
in  enemy  soil,  in  Langensalza,  where  their  comrades 
have  raised  simple  black  and  white  stone  monuments 
over  their  graves. 

Such  is  the  brief  statement  of  the  facts. 

Who  was  responsible?  The  inborn  brutal  instinct 
of  the  German  was  of  course  at  the  bottom  of  it  all. 
But  more  to  be  denounced  than  the  stupid  man  who 
did  "some  good  shooting"  or  he  who  plunged  his 
bayonet  into  the  wounded,  is  the  officer  who  coldly 
sitting  in  the  bureau  of  the  commander  of  the  camp 
planned  the  massacre  and  without  a  word  of  explana- 
tion being  asked  and  without  a  warning,  gave  the 
command  to  fire.  That  officer,  recognized  by  all  the 
prisoners,  was  condemned  by  the  testimony  given  by 
thirty  witnesses  who  were  questioned  during  the 
different  inquests  held  at  Langensalza  by  the  dele- 
gates from  Spain  and  Holland  who  had  come  from 
Berlin  at  the  request  of  the  relief  committee,  and  by 
the  officers  of  the  French  mission  for  the  repatriation 
of  prisoners — that  officer  was  Captain  Koch. 

That  the  massacre  was  premeditated,  there  is  not  a 
doubt.  Witnesses  established  that,  and  their  evidence 
left  no  question.     A  German  soldier  standing  before 


152        Behind  the  German  Lines 

the  office  of  the  commander  of  the  camp  said  to  a 
prisoner,  ''Go,  warn  your  comrades,  those  soldiers 
are  going  to  shoot  them!"  It  was  a  brutal  massacre, 
commanded  by  a  German  officer,  executed  by  Ger- 
man soldiers  against  unarmed  and  inoffensive  pris- 
oners who  for  the  most  part  were  engaged  at  play. 

It  is  perhaps  unnecessary  to  add  that  the  German 
government  entirely  approved  of  Captain  Koch's 
conduct  in  the  murderous  affair,  as  he  was  soon  given 
advancement.  Before  the  killing  of  the  fifteen  men 
at  Langensalza  he  commanded  a  company  of  Land- 
sturm  charged  with  guarding  the  prisoners;  when  I 
left  France  he  commanded  a  battalion. 

At  the  time,  I  was  in  one  of  the  barracks  on  the 
other  side  of  the  camp.  As  the  first  shot  rang  out,  a 
breathless  silence  came  over  the  room  which  was 
filled  with  a  crowd  of  Englishmen.  Then  the  men 
ducked  for  cover  as  the  shooting  continued.  Our 
own  excitement  was  over  in  a  few  minutes,  yet  no 
one  seemed  to  know  what  had  happened,  and  it  was 
not  for  several  days  that  we  were  able  to  gather  all 
of  the  facts  of  the  case. 

We  believed  that  we  would  be  sent  to  the  border, 
Holland  or  Switzerland,  most  any  day,  yet  the  days 
passed  with  only  promises  from  the  Germans  and 
rumors  that  a  train  was  due  in  a  day  or  two.  But  the 
days  came  and  went  and  no  trains  arrived.  On  the 
other  hand,  prisoners  were  coming  in  from  the  Kom- 
mandos  and  the  camp  was  more  than  crowded.  Men 
were  sleeping  on  the  barrack  floors  and  the  rooms 
were  occupied  by  twice  their  accustomed  number. 


Langensalza  153 

No  tenement  could  have  been  worse.  The  men  lay 
so  close  to  one  another  that  it  was  almost  impossible 
not  to  step  on  them  at  night.  Being  December  the 
weather  had  become  bitterly  cold.  Only  by  closing 
the  doors  did  we  begin  to  keep  warm,  and  even  then 
we  were  sleeping  with  our  clothes  on  and  our  over- 
coats were  used  for  extra  covering.  The  air  became 
vile  toward  morning,  although  at  the  same  time  the 
warmth  of  our  bodies  had  taken  the  chilliness  out  of 
the  air.  We  awoke  cramped  and  with  a  heavy  head  in 
the  morning.    Would  the  new  day  bring  better  news? 

An  American  officer  arrived  from  Berlin  during  the 
first  week  in  December.  As  a  member  of  a  commis- 
sion for  the  repatriation  and  transportation  of 
prisoners  he  visited  the  camp  to  inspect  our  condi- 
tion, and  to  do  what  he  could  for  our  release.  What- 
ever the  outcome  of  his  trip  was  I  never  learned,  at 
least  our  departure  was  not  immediate. 

Before  the  shooting  affair  many  of  us  had  been  in 
the  habit  of  bribing  our  way  out  of  camp  with  a  piece 
of  soap  or  chocolate,  and  taking  strolls  around  the 
town  of  Langensalza.  During  this  period  the  pris- 
oners wandered  at  large,  frequenting  the  shops  and 
cafes  or  merely  walking  about  the  streets.  Before 
the  armistice  we  had  been  required  to  salute  all  Ger- 
man officers.  Now  in  passing  them  we  showed  no 
recognition  whatsoever  to  any  officers  except  those 
who  were  Allied.  After  the  massacre,  however,  I 
remained  in  the  camp  lest  the  affair,  being  only  an 
expression  of  the  German  hatred  for  the  prisoners, 
might  be  repeated. 


154       Behind  the  German  Lines 

One  story  which  had  its  final  ending  in  camp  dur- 
ing my  absence  while  on  the  farm  is  worthy  of  men- 
tion. In  fact  it  would  fill  a  volume  in  itself  could  it 
but  be  told  in  full.     I  can  give  only  the  facts  briefly: 

Eighteen  hundred  Englishmen  were  captured  dur- 
ing the  same  German  advance  in  May  in  which  I  was 
taken.  These  men  were  put  to  work  behind  the 
German  lines,  working  on  ammunition  dumps  and 
roads.  Their  rations  consisted  only  of  soup  twice 
a  day,  and  that  of  a  limited  quantity,  and  almost 
negative  quality.  Of  these  eighteen  hundred  only 
one  hundred  and  eighty-seven  survived  to  return  to 
the  camp  at  Langensalza  six  months  later.  Over- 
work and  starvation  rations  had  killed  the  rest.  Of 
the  number  which  arrived  in  camp,  seventy-five  died 
the  first  ten  days.  The  American  doctor  who  was 
attached  to  the  hospital  reported  that  none  of  the 
remaining  men  would  live  over  two  years,  so  severe 
and  so  long  had  been  the  strain  which  they  had  been 
forced  to  undergo  at  the  point  of  a  bayonet.  These 
facts  point  to  a  tragedy  too  awful  to  comprehend. 

During  the  second  week  in  December  the  first 
convoy  of  English  left  for  Holland.  Campbell, 
Turner,  and  Gilbert,  together  with  others  whom  I 
had  known,  were  included  in  the  fifteen  hundred 
earher  prisoners  who  left  at  that  time.  I  knew  what 
that  departure  meant  to  them,  many  of  whom  had 
been  prisoners  for  four  years.  No  wonder  that  they 
swung  their  packs  with  high  spirits  and  pushed 
eagerly  toward  the  gate — they  were  going  home! 
And  their  going  was  the  next  best  thing  to  my  going. 


Langensalza  155 

yet  I  knew  that  in  all  probability  I  would  never  see 
them  again.  I  have  never  had  kinder  friends  than 
those  Englishmen  nor  could  I  know  better  men  than 
they. 

The  number  of  Americans  in  camp  had  gradually 
grown,  both  from  the  front  and  from  neighboring 
camps  which  had  been  evacuated,  so  that  our  number 
was  raised  to  forty-five.  Our  departure  seemed 
imminent. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

CASSEL— REPATRIATION 

Finally,  on  December  i8th,  we  left  for  Cassel, 
while  the  few  who  were  in  the  hospital  were  sent 
directly  to  Rastatt.  At  the  station  in  Langensalza 
we  had  a  five-hour  wait,  not  leaving  until  six  in  the 
evening.  The  ride  in  the  third-class  coach  was 
uneventful  and  about  eight  the  next  morning  we 
pulled  into  the  suburban  station  of  Cassel  which  was 
used  for  the  prisoners.  A  mile  walk  brought  us  to 
the  camp  which  was  situated  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
city.  Cassel  was  the  home  of  Hindenburg  and  also  on 
the  neighboring  mountain  was  the  castle  of  Wilhelms- 
hohe  owned  by  the  ex-Kaiser. 

According  to  all  reports  we  were  to  remain  there 
only  over  night,  going  on  to  Frankfort  the  next 
morning.  We  accepted  cheerfully  the  filthy  quarters 
assigned  us.  During  the  first  ten  minutes  in  the 
camp,  while  looking  for  a  place  to  sleep,  the  box  con- 
taining my  food,  letters,  souvenirs,  and  in  fact  every- 
thing I  possessed,  was  stolen.  The  few  Americans 
that  were  there  when  we  arrived  welcomed  us  with 
open  arms,  for  their  departure  depended  on  our  arrival. 

The  next  morning  we  did  not  leave,  nor  the  next, 

156 


Cassel— Repatriation  1 57 

and  the  days  began  to  drag  by  as  before.  The  Ger- 
mans would  give  us  no  satisfaction  as  to  the  possible 
date  of  our  leaving.  Cassel  was  a  camp  similar  to 
Langensalza  in  construction  and  equipment,  but 
because  of  neglect  during  the  few  weeks  after  the 
armistice,  it  had  become  almost  as  filthy  a  hole  as 
Laon.  As  all  details  had  ceased,  the  lack  of  sanita- 
tion around  the  barracks  had  become  practically 
unbearable.  The  prisoners  of  the  different  national- 
ities were  not  segregated,  so  that  had  the  English  or 
French  tried  to  maintain  some  semblance  of  cleanli- 
ness around  their  barracks,  the  filth  of  the  Russians, 
who  occupied  the  building  with  us,  would  have 
counteracted  all  that  could  have  been  done. 

The  condition  of  the  prisoners  at  Cassel  had  become 
worse  after  the  signing  of  the  armistice.  No  food 
shipments  were  arriving,  and  no  convoys  had  been 
leaving,  while  the  prisoners  were  returning  from  their 
Kommandos  daily.  The  same  food  condition  even- 
tually would  have  existed  at  Langensalza  had  we 
remained  there  many  weeks  longer.  Cassel  re- 
sembled a  pig  pen  more  than  a  prison.  To  step  off 
the  duck  walks  meant  to  go  over  one's  ankles  in  mud. 
The  Russians  after  finishing  their  soup  threw  the 
refuse  out  the  window  where  it  remained  in  stinking 
heaps.  Had  not  the  camp  been  situated  on  a  hillside 
so  that  the  drainage  was  fair,  and  had  it  not  been 
midwinter  the  place  would  have  been  a  pest  hole 
reeking  with  disease.  As  it  was,  the  hospital  was 
filled  to  overflowing  and  with  practically  no  medi- 
cine for  the  sick. 


158       Behind  the  German  Lines 

At  night  it  was  really  dangerous  to  leave  the  bar- 
racks. The  men,  because  of  the  shortage  of  fuel  for 
cooking,  had  been  tearing  empty  barracks  to  pieces. 
As  a  result  the  guards  shot  indiscriminately  prisoners 
whose  movements  appeared  suspicious  to  them,  and 
that,  taken  literally,  meant  anyone  walking  about 
after  dark.  The  crack  of  a  rifle  could  be  heard  with 
disquieting  frequency  during  the  night.  Yet  the 
men  who  were  stationed  there  took  the  situation  as  a 
matter  of  course. 

The  day  before  Christmas,  an  English  hospital 
train  arrived  to  remove  all  the  sick  and  wounded. 
Two  or  three  Americans  who  had  been  reported  sick 
also  left  on  the  train. 

Christmas  morning  broke  cold  and  cheerless.  I 
arose  and  made  the  cocoa  while  the  others  took  break- 
fast in  bed  as  that  was  the  best  means  of  keeping 
warm.  That  noon  Lockwood  acted  as  cook,  and 
gave  us  as  good  a  Christmas  dinner  as  our  supplies 
would  permit.  We  had  just  finished  when  an  Amer- 
ican prisoner  came  over  and  announced  that  we 
would  leave  at  three  that  afternoon.  This  news  was 
a  wonderful  Christmas  present! 

That  evening,  as  we  bumped  along  in  a  third-class 
coach,  some  sixty  Americans  in  the  party,  we  agreed 
that  this  Christmas  had  brought  to  us  more  joy  than 
any  we  had  ever  experienced.  We  had  just  seated 
ourselves  when  one  of  the  Americans  walked  over 
to  the  German  guard,  a  boy  of  about  eighteen,  and 
picked  up  his  rifle  which  was  standing  in  the  corner. 
Opening  the  breach  block  he  ejected  the  cartridges 


Cassel— Repatriation  159 

and  threw  them  out  of  the  window.  He  then  un- 
fastened the  bayonet,  put  it  in  the  guard's  scabbard 
and  returned  then  to  his  seat.  The  boy  guard 
smiled  submissively  and  continued  eating  his  supper 
of  sausage  and  black  bread.  This  guard  was  indeed 
a  very  different  type  from  those  who  had  escorted  us 
into  the  interior  of  Germany,  or  from  those  who  had 
done  the  shooting  at  Langensalza. 

After  a  dull  trip  the  train  pulled  into  the  station  of 
Frankfort  about  two  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Ac- 
companied by  a  civilian  guard,  who  met  us,  we  were 
taken  to  a  lunchroom  in  the  station  and  served  hot 
coffee,  sausage,  sandwiches,  and  beer.  This  came  as  a 
surprise  and  it  was  quite  in  keeping  with  the  peculiar 
German  notion  that  by  a  last  good  impression  they 
could  efface  from  our  memories  all  that  had  happened 
during  the  past  months. 

From  the  station  our  guide  led  us  across  the  street 
to  a  hotel,  the  Kolnerhof,  where  we  were  assigned 
rooms.  For  once  we  had  nothing  over  which  to 
grumble.  It  was  the  turn  of  the  German  proprietor 
to  be  displeased,  for  he  did  not  seem  to  welcome  the 
intrusion  of  the  sixty  dirty,  lousy  men  that  trooped 
upstairs  to  occupy  the  three  upper  floors.  As  for 
ourselves,  we  were  overjoyed  at  the  sight  of  those 
real  beds  and  the  possibility  of  a  good  night's  sleep. 
We  tumbled  in  with  all  haste. 

The  next  morning  about  nine,  before  we  were  fully 
dressed,  an  American  and  a  Swiss  major  who  had 
come  to  take  charge  of  us  held  a  brief  roll  call  in  the 
hall,  and  gave  us  a  few  directions.     We  were  to  be  in 


i6o        Behind  the  German  Lines 

the  city  for  a  few  days,  not  more  than  three,  until  a 
section  of  American  ambulances  could  arrive  to  motor 
us  to  Strassburg  where  we  would  cross  the  lines.  We 
were  allowed  to  spend  the  intervening  time  as  we 
wished,  only  we  were  to  keep  in  touch  with  the  hotel, 
so  as  to  be  on  hand  for  our  departure. 

Our  breakfast,  as  well  as  the  other  meals  we  re- 
ceived while  there,  was  served  in  the  main  dining 
room,  and  was  entirely  Red  Cross  food.  We  pre- 
sented a  strange  picture  in  our  ragged  clothes  as  we 
sat  down  to  meals  in  that  large  stately  dining  room, 
being  served  by  the  Germans  in  dress  suits.  A  few 
songs  that  evening  over  our  coffee  brought  more 
clearly  to  mind  the  fact  that  we  were  no  longer  pris- 
oners, but  soldiers  about  to  return  to  our  own  armies. 
It  was  too  good  to  be  true,  but  there  we  were  within 
five  miles  of  the  French  lines. 

Frankfort  at  that  time  was  part  of  the  neutral  zone, 
occupied  neither  by  the  Germans  nor  the  Allies,  but 
policed  by  a  home  guard  of  civilians.  During  our 
three  days  in  the  city  we  did  as  much  sight-seeing  as 
possible,  taking  long  walks.  Frankfort  although 
quaint  in  portions  reminded  me  more  of  an  American 
city  than  any  that  I  had  seen  on  the  continent.  But 
from  appearances  I  judged  that  business  was  dull. 
The  shop  windows  clearly  revealed  the  condition  of 
trade.  In  place  of  leather  goods  the  shoe  stores 
exhibited  clumsy  footwear  with  wooden  soles  and 
paper  tops ;  the  meat  markets  were  practically  empty ; 
the  clothing  stores  displayed  some  goods,  but  the 
prices  were  beyond  the  reach  of  the  average  individ- 


Cassel— Repatriation  i6i 

ual.  The  stationery  stores  and  bookshops  were 
doing  a  good  business. 

During  our  search  for  a  theater  the  first  evening, 
we  asked  a  home  guard  for  directions,  and  inquired 
whether  we  would  be  admitted,  and,  if  so,  what  would 
it  cost  us.  We  were  all  practically  without  money. 
He  spoke  English,  and  was  very  obsequious. 

''Cost  you  anything?  Why  no!  You  are  no 
longer  prisoners,  but  masters  of  the  situation.  Go 
where  you  wish  and  make  yourselves  at  home."  We 
did.  If  we  wanted  to  go  to  the  moving  picture  show 
we  simply  walked  in  and  sat  down.  Our  appearance 
was  our  ticket. 

Later  we  dropped  into  a  cafe.  Much  to  our  sur- 
prise, the  orchestra  struck  up  the  Star-spangled 
Banner.  That  incident  illustrates  how  readily  the 
Germans  are  able  to  disguise  their  feelings,  for  of 
course  the  outward  expression  of  friendliness  was  a 
mere  pretense.  During  our  stay  in  Frankfort  of 
three  days  I  noticed  no  evidence  of  open  hostility 
toward  us  on  the  part  of  the  civilians.  While  sitting 
in  the  cafe,  a  German  accosted  us  and  asked  if  we 
wished  to  get  across  the  lines  which  were  only  a  few 
miles  outside  of  the  city.  When  we  questioned  him, 
he  replied  that  he  thought  we  were  prisoners,  and 
that  he  would  take  us  through  the  lines  for  a  consider- 
ation. We  declined  with  thanks.  The  cafes  were 
crowded  at  night.  The  war  appeared  to  have  had  no 
effect  on  that  side  of  German  life.  But  perhaps  the 
reaction  after  the  armistice  tended  to  increase  the 
gayety  in  the  city. 


1 62        Behind  the  German  Lines 

Several  Germans  with  whom  we  talked  expressed 
the  desire  that  the  Americans  should  occupy  Frank- 
fort in  preference  to  the  English  or  the  French,  and 
that  any  occupation  was  better  than  none,  for  it 
would  insure  a  relief  of  the  food  situation.  Germany 
was  not  suffering  much  from  lack  of  food  in  the  coun- 
try, but  in  the  cities  the  people  were  indeed  feeling 
the  strain  of  the  blockade. 

On  the  morning  of  December  29th,  at  ten  o'clock, 
a  section  of  American  ambulances  rolled  down  the 
Kaiserstrauss  and  drew  up  before  the  hotel.  A  loud 
ringing  cheer  greeted  them  as  we  caught  the  first 
glimpse  of  the  small  American  flags  mounted  on  the 
bodies  of  the  cars.  In  a  moment  we  were  on  our  way, 
leaving  a  crowd  of  curious  Germans  gaping  on  the 
sidewalk.     The  last  lap  of  our  journey  had  begun. 

That  afternoon  we  passed  the  advance  line  of  the 
French  outposts.  When  I  saw  that  poilu  standing 
beside  the  road  with  his  fixed  bayonet  and  his  pol- 
ished helmet  I  could  have  thrown  my  arms  around 
his  neck  and  greeted  him  in  the  true  French  manner. 
Going  by  way  of  Darmstadt  and  Mannheim,  where 
we  remained  over  night,  and  then  continuing  on  to 
Rastatt  the  next  day,  where  we  were  delayed  for 
equipment,  we  crossed  the  Rhine,  and  the  bridge- 
head at  Strassburg,  held  by  the  French  Foreign 
Legion,  and,  on  New  Year's  Day,  1919,  after  having 
been  a  prisoner  for  seven  months,  I  set  foot  once 
more  in  France. 


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